The Child of Darkness
by Brilliant Brunette Beauty
Summary: *SEQUEL TO NOT A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS* Vieve Wayne has changed a lot since her dad took her in. She's gained and lost a best friend, learned to open up to people, and become proficient in defending herself. When an unbeatable force descends upon Gotham City, she takes it upon herself to defend her home. But little does she know, this madness also involves one of her own demons.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'm back! I couldn't stay away for long. Vieve's story isn't over yet. She's still got a long way to go, trust me. I hope most of the readers of the last story are back here. That's why I posted the link to this one on the other one. So you'd have no excuse NOT to read this. And sorry if you were expecting an action packed first chapter; we're kind of getting back into the swing of things, you know? We're checking up on Vieve after almost a year has passed since we last saw her. So, this chapter is kind of a 'what's happened recently' chapter, but with a twist. ;) Enjoy!**

* * *

The air has a slight chill to it today. I can feel it smacking me, making my core shake as my body tries to warm itself up by walking faster. Funny, I didn't notice that when I went out earlier today. Maybe when you're sporting an injury, you can better feel the wind blowing into your face, hitting your wound and causing shock waves to sound throughout your body.

My face throbs just a bit, but a smile still manages to find its way to it. By now, my face is probably sporting a very small bruise along with the small cut which I'm fairly sure is next to the corner of my mouth, but I don't pay any more attention to it. It's small, and even if it wasn't, why should I care? Injuries are almost always worth it. I'd let myself be injured a thousand times over if it meant I could experience it again. I would do anything for this feeling that I get. I love the feeling I get from helping others, from kicking ass and defending the weak when no one else has the balls to do it. Being a vigilante runs in the family, you could say. There's no escaping that. Of course, my dad does this on a much larger scale than me.

I smile even wider when the thought of my dad comes to mind. I can remember a time when Dad and I could barely coexist peacefully under the same roof. I pushed him away, while he pushed me away even further. I can't help but laugh when I think of that girl I used to be. I was a scared, emotionally tough, angry, and resentful girl who hated the world and most people in it. While I still have a hot temper, that girl is long gone by now. I don't know exactly when she left. Maybe it was when my dad and I had our big blowup. Maybe it was when I found out Dad is actually the Batman.

Maybe it was when my best friend sacrificed herself for me.

Whatever it was, it made me who I am today. And I'd like to say I'm doing pretty damn well.

No longer am I Genevieve Bancroft, the poor little foster girl with a dead mom and a deep resentment towards the world. Now I'm Vieve Wayne, an independent, loud, resilient sixteen year old girl with an awesome dad and a life that would keep any teenage girl on the edge of her seat. That's not to say I don't still have my fair share of problems. I still have my battle scars, but you learn to deal with the hand life serves you.

I laugh a bit. Here I am, sixteen years old, and still spouting off Mom's words of wisdom.

I walk in the house, hearing the silence that rings throughout. How is it possible for silence to be this deafening? Dad and Alfred must be in the cave. Otherwise, one of them would have greeted me when they heard me walk in. I put my bag on the table in the middle of the house, sighing before jogging to the library. The grand piano sits there as usual. I tap on the keys that open the bookcase. By now, I have the code memorized. I'm allowed in whenever I want. Well, with Dad's permission of course.

The bookcase opens up and I step into the elevator. It drops down to the cave, which used to be just that; a cave. Now, it's an almost sterile white lair of sorts with much more equipment than there used to be. Lights line the ceiling and cast down upon the place where everything Batman related is stored. Sure enough, I can see both my dad and Alfred in the distance, over by the computer. I smile again as I approach.

"What, I don't get my hello?" I call out jokingly. They both turn around, smiling at the sound of my voice. Dad looks like he's stitching himself up on his arm. Of course. He always manages to get himself into some sort of trouble. Sometimes, the luckiest criminals manage to land a few injuries on him.

I wish I was at the level of sheer badass-ness that my dad has somehow managed to achieve.

The smile fades from their faces when they see that I'm sporting an injury of my own. Oops! I guess I forgot about how they would react to this. I never lie about my injuries – well, they don't happen often – or what caused them, but it still causes them both concern. See, _this _is why I wish I was as good as Dad at this. Then I wouldn't get the 3rd degree every time I come home with a little cut. It's not big deal!

"Vieve," my dad says calmly. I'm more scared by his 'calm' voice than I would be if he was yelling. "What in the world happened to your face?"

I touch my hand to my cheek, feeling my skin become a bit tender at the action. A year ago, I would have been even more injured than I am today. I learned self-defense. But, accidents do happen. Dad is never happy when I show up with marks and scratches, no matter how small, but I can't make them stop. It's not in my nature to sit by and let things happen when I know I can help.

"About that, Dad…" I start nervously. "I saw some lady getting mugged on my way home from school, so I decided, why not help out? The lucky idiot got one good swing in before I took him down. But I'm fine, I swear!"

Dad eyes me suspiciously before reaching out to touch my bruise. I turn my head in protest, but he gives me his 'strict' look that makes me turn back to him. When Dad gives me that look, then I know it's better to just not be so stubborn. I may be stubborn as all hell, but where do you think I got that from?

Actually, it came from _both _sides, so either way I'm screwed.

"You know I worry about you, Vieve," he says. "I wish you wouldn't take it upon yourself to stop crimes you're not even involved in."

I roll my eyes, but keep smiling. I don't think he realizes that he just described himself.

"You know that's not in my nature. Besides, I learned from the best."

Even he has to smirk at this. I did learn from the best. Dad taught me everything I know. He held back in his teachings, of course. He taught me how to defend myself and then some, but he didn't go and give me a full League of Shadows lesson. Maybe I'll squeeze one out of him someday. I'm up for the challenge.

I start for the elevator, but I hear my dad calling me from his place at the computer. I wheel around and cross my arms over my chest, pretending to be annoyed.

"Whaaaaaaaaat?" I exaggerate for effect. He gives me a reproving head shake. He _knows _how much I hate those. So he just does them more. That's my dad. He loves to screw with me, and I screw with him even more in revenge.

"You're really going to leave without saying goodbye?" he asks incredulously. I roll my eyes and walk back over to him. I knew it'd be something like this.

"See ya, Dad. I love you," I say before kissing him on the cheek and bouncing off towards the elevator again.

"I love you too!" he calls from the distance. It still makes me smile when he says that, even after hearing it so often. It's been almost a whole year since I moved in here. Since then, there have been a lot of changes. He formally adopted me shortly after my best friend – Blake – died.

The memory of her bleeding out on the floor of Arkham Asylum still brings a deep frown to my face. Especially knowing she died to save my life. Then I remember that time when I slept over at her house and we ended up staying up until a whopping 5:00 a.m. just talking about the most random crap you could think of. We were so freaking tired the next day that we slept in 'till at least 2:00 p.m. Thinking of times like those make me smile again. At least we had the time together that we did, even if it was short. I would never take that time back. Ever.

On the way to my room, I grab the newspaper placed on the table near the stairs. It's normal for me to lay back on my bed, read the newspaper to see what's going on in Gotham, and then listen to my iPod and chill for the rest of the day. It's a nice way to relax after school. That is, if I don't have a mountain of homework to sift through.

I trudge into my room lazily and shut my door with my foot, gripping the newspaper underneath my arm. My room is like my safe haven that I use to express myself. It's a light blue with posters plastered all over the wall and pictures covering what the posters don't. I look at my _Supernatural _poster that's stuck to my door a little longer before finally moving on. Yes, I have a giant crush on Dean Winchester. Problem?

A picture of Mom holding me as a baby hangs above my bed next to a picture of Blake and me hugging and laughing like maniacs. I still smile every time I see both those photos.

Hopping onto my comfy bed, I take out the newspaper from under my arm and unfold it. The first photo I see is of a black and white, gritty Joker card. The headline declares _'Joker Has Struck Again!' _

This catches my attention. I might have to ask Dad about this later, seeing as though it looks crime related.

I skim through the article and get the gist of it. Basically, this Joker guy leaves a card behind at all his heists to make it clear that he was the one who did it. You know the type; narcissistic, wants to be known around the world, so he gets his own symbol. He wants to be 'different;. During this heist, all his henchmen turned on each other and shot each other in the back – quite literally. He had a freaking _bus _driven through the bank and absconded with a large amount of cash. When I think about it, it's a pretty genius plan. He didn't have to pay any of his cronies a cut, and he didn't have to kill them himself. The simply let them do the job for him. He must be a master at manipulation.

It says in the article that he's done some other various crimes scattered throughout Gotham, and he has left a Joker card at the scene of each one. But sometimes, another card is left near his. They've found an Ace card at the scene of a few of his crimes. They don't know what it means, or if it actually does mean anything. After all, this man seems to be doing things just because he wants to. There's no logic behind his actions. He just _does _things.

I snap the paper closed and toss it onto my desk. I don't want to read about that right now. Something about it makes my stomach turn.

I plug my headphones into my iPod, intent of drowning out the rest of the world for a while. When I press the on button, the first thing that comes on is _The Phoenix _by Fall Out Boy. I laugh a little. Of course, right after thinking about Blake, our favorite song together comes up. It makes me think of the good times, when the two of us were best friends. It represents everything good about our friendship. It should make me impossibly happy, like the feeling I get after seeing a photo of her or thinking of our funny times together.

But then why does listening to this song give me a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach?

* * *

_Third person POV_

Miles away, in a broken down and crumbling building, someone else listens to the same song. She bends over to lace up her boots while keeping the ear buds to her – well, it's hers _now –_ iPod securely fastened into her ears. The song blast into her eardrums, keeping her energized and focused. She hasn't slept in… Actually, she can't think of the last time she's slept. She's been too busy. But that's okay. She doubts she would sleep even if she hadn't been busy. Her brain won't shut down like it's supposed to. Too much to think about, you know?

She straightens her skirt a bit and messes with her suspenders, just to distract herself. Every time she plays her favorite song, a certain someone pops into her brain. She gets overwhelmed with memories, but she does her best to suppress them. Where she is now, it's better not to dwell on the past. It's in the past for a reason, after all. She's done with that part of her life. For good.

As far as she's concerned, Blake Demonte really _did _die that night.

* * *

**A/N: It's good to be back! In the short, two-day timeslot when I wasn't posting on the first story, I missed this. And I've got some BIG plans for this story. :D  
**

**So, you know the drill, people. Leave your reviews down below and tell me what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This chapter COULD technically be considered a filler by some, but I like it a lot. And it leads into something! So, there you go; it's useful. Plus, it covers some stuff the last chapter didn't. Like school. *collective groan***

* * *

School is… school.

Any teenager will know exactly what I'm talking about.

I don't _really_ hate it, but at the same time, I don't walk up with a smile plastered across my face before skipping to go get my bag and rushing off to school all while singing Disney songs. No. Not even close. In fact, I don't understand how happy, peppy morning people _exist_. And I hate them all.

It takes Dad at least 5 to 10 minutes to wake me up in the morning because he knows he can't trust me to wake up with an alarm. I would ignore it. So, it's up to him to try and wake me in the morning. Sometimes, he even gives up trying to shake me awake and lays in bed with me until I finally crawl out from underneath the covers, trudge downstairs, eat breakfast, and lay on the couch until it's time to get dressed and go.

Gotham Academy is no worse than it was when I first attended. Then again, it's not much better. The school itself hasn't changed at all. I'm the one that's changed. I'm a sophomore now and on the honor roll. That is, if my grade in pre-calculus stays on course. I feel like math mocks me. Freshmen year came and went like a whirlwind. I've since coped with the horrid skirt I have to wear as a uniform, the snobbish and entitled rich kids who all want something from me, the horror of choosing a lunch table to sit at, and my little problem with making friends.

Speaking of friends, I actually have a few now!

… Do you need a moment to sit down and collect yourself? I know, it's a very shocking development. Let's see; there's Amy, Becca, Gwen, Iliana, Melanie, Tyler, Jack, Shane… Yeah, I think I've done pretty well for myself. Then again, they're all pretty casual friends. None of them are my best friends. That title is reserved and can never be taken up again.

I slam my locker shut after grabbing my unnaturally heavy backpack out of it. Finally, it's the end of the day! Even though I'm inundated with homework in nearly all my classes, I'd still say I had a good day.

"Hey!" I hear a voice call to me. I turn to see Iliana catching up to me. I return her smile. Iliana is a perky, tall blonde with a view on life as bright as her blue eyes. I usually cringe every time someone like that opens their mouth, but she and Lucinda are the exceptions to that rule. She's what I call my 'history class buddy'. You know what a class buddy is. They're the people you talk to before the bell rings and have a silent agreement to pair up with for all projects assigned. Basically, most high school students have at least one.

"Hey, Iliana. Did you get the homework for tonight?" I ask.

"Sure!" she answers with her usual bouncy optimism. "It's pages 67 through 68 in the textbook. You answer questions 1 through 15 on page 69."

Like I said, we're history buddies. I use that to my full advantage whenever I can. Call me lazy, but I can't be bothered to dig through my freaking backpack to find a piece of paper where I can write down the homework when we only have 15 seconds left of class.

"Thanks, Ili," I respond. A comfortable silence develops between the two of us as we walk to the front to wait to be picked up by our parents. That's one thing I like about Iliana. She doesn't require constant conversation, and even when we do talk, she does most of it so _I _don't have to. It may be a lazy friendship, but it works for me.

"So, Vieve," she begins. "What've you been up to lately?"

I shrug in response as I readjust my backpack so it doesn't dig into my skin so much.

"Not much. You?"

I regret those words as soon as they come out of my mouth. Iliana gets that twinkle in her eyes that she does before she starts to go off on some tangent about something. Oh boy. I should have just kept my mouth shut.

"Oh, Vieve, I'm so glad you asked! You see, I…"

I zone out as she goes on about various things that happened to her today. Her math class, the funny thing I missed during homeroom today, the dress she got for the upcoming homecoming dance, and even a boy in her science class that she heard has a little crush on me. I give the appropriate answers at the appropriate times, but my mind isn't totally in it. I'm being more automatic with my answers. I say stuff like 'yeah', 'cool', 'really?', and 'no way' when it's needed.

You see, I like Iliana. I really do. I like all of my other friends too. But none of them fit me as well as Blake did. I'm still looking for someone who gets me as totally as she did. So far, I haven't had any luck.

I spot my dad's signature sports car pull up to the curb to wait for me, and I wave goodbye to Iliana as I rush to leave. I get in the passenger's seat like always and toss my heavy backpack to the backseats.

"Good day?" Dad asks while we drive. I shrug.

"It was fine, but I bet yours was a million times more interesting." Now he shrugs as casually as me.

"No, not by much. I went to Wayne Towers, had to go to a meeting, fell asleep during it, asked Lucius for an improved suit…"

"Wait, wait, hold up a minute," I interrupt. "You _fell asleep _during a meeting?"

Damn, I knew Batman's work schedule kind of interferes with Bruce Wayne's, but I always thought Dad had it together. It seems like he _never _sleeps. He's Batman when he should be sleeping.

"I was tired! It was boring, anyways." I would rather cut my head off than have and office job like that, so I guess it's understandable that he passed out in the middle of it. Of course, now he probably even has a bigger reputation as a giant douchebag, which will then transfer over to me. I still have to deal with being called 'V-Card' from time to time from some of the asshole guys that go here, and then there are the snobbish girls who love to poke fun at my father's bad reputation in this city. I know he has a cover to maintain, and the guy he's pretending to be is the least likely candidate for someone self-sacrificing like Batman, but sometimes it really sucks.

"Dad?" I ask cautiously.

"Hmm?" he responds while keeping his eyes glued to the road. Dad has always told me that I can tell or ask him anything, but there's one thing I've never ventured into; his job.

And no, I'm _not _talking about his day job.

Yet, there's something that has plagued me all day that I can't help but bring up.

"Have you learned much about this 'Joker' guy?"

Dad turns to me in bewilderment, raising his eyebrows to ask with his expression why the hell I'm asking him this so out of the blue. Well, that was a better reaction than I expected. At least he's not shutting me down and demanding that I don't touch his secret life.

"Why're you asking? Is there something wrong? Do you have anything you need to tell me?" he keeps questioning me. My sudden interest in this scares him for some reason. He isn't keen on the fact that I asked. Why, I don't know. It was just a question! I didn't mean anything by it. It's not like I'm planning on going out and catching this lunatic myself.

"I'm only curious," I reassure him. "I read about him in the papers and I found it interesting. Is that such a crime?"

Dad seems to snap back to his usual self and relax on the issue.

"No, there's nothing much to report on that," he informs me. I nod and lean back in my chair, going silent. Usually, I tell Dad everything that happened in my day, no matter how small or unimportant. And he always listens. But now, I'm just thinking.

Why is it that he freaked out at the first sign of interest in crime? I've never pried into his Batman business, but I didn't think that if I did, he'd become so concerned. It's almost as if he wants me to stay out of it and be a normal teenage girl, blissfully ignorant as to the crap that goes on in Gotham. But that's pretty damn impossible when my dad is the freaking _Batman_.

I wish he'd give me a little more credit, you know? If I was trained properly, I could be right there alongside him every night. I would do it, too. If he'd let me, I swear I'd kick the asses of all these scumbags that give Gotham such a bad reputation. And I'd carry on his legacy.

But I won't tell Dad that. He might have a heart attack.

* * *

"Vieve!" Dad calls. I look up from my history textbook and look towards Dad's direction. To my surprise, he's wearing a nice suit, like he's going somewhere. I quirk my head and give him a smirk.

"Well, someone is looking quite dapper tonight. You going on a date?"

He rolls his eyes and adjusts his suit self-consciously.

"No, smartass. I'm going out with a… friend," he informs me. "I just wanted to say goodbye." My smirk grows and I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. What a perfect opportunity to poke and prod my dear father out of the information that he seems to be evasive about. Because, you know, I'm just a wonderful and supportive daughter.

"Really? Who is this friend? Have I met him?" I know as well as him that this 'friend' is no 'him'. It's never a 'him' unless it's Fox or someone else like that. In that case, he would have told me who he's seeing. Pft, yeah, he's totally seeing a 'friend'.

"_She _is a ballerina is the Moscow Ballet," he shoots back. "She just so happens to be in town and I just so happen to be taking her out to dinner tonight."

I have a strong feeling that this is not just him keeping up his playboy image with a random date. I think this has something to do with a certain lady named Rachel Dawes. Call it a daughter's intuition, but something tells me she's involved in this somehow.

"Dad," I say accusingly. "Is Rachel going to be wherever it is you're taking this ballerina?"

He sighs. Clearly, he thought he was off the hook. And clearly, he underestimated me.

"Fine, I'll admit it, she is. Now can I please leave instead of being brutally interrogated by my sixteen year old daughter?"

I make the 'shoo' hand gesture and go back to reading the textbook in front of me.

"Sure. Feel free to go on your fake date. I'll see you later."

I look up just in time to see him roll his eyes before he leaves the room, muttering something about how he's supposed to question me, not the other way around.

"Use protection!" I call out, just to annoy him. He only manages an embarrassed groan before he's out of ear shot, probably totally red-faced by now. I grin. That's what he gets for trying to use a Russian ballerina to make Rachel jealous. If he really wants to make a chick like that jealous, then he should date a girl like my mother; spunky, smart, and kind. I doubt a ditzy ballerina will make Rachel feel intimidated in any way. In fact, it might just make her think he's desperate.

And believe me, he is.

I sigh, wishing that Dad would grow a pair and either get over Rachel or do whatever it is she requires of him before they start a relationship. I like Rachel a lot. I've met her a couple of times and she seems like she's a feisty lady who would be good for Dad. I look at this from a 'future step-mother' perspective. That may sound like I'm jumping the gun a bit, but I know that there's a good chance that I'll have to share my dad with someone eventually. And if I have to share him with anyone, then I'd like that person to be Rachel.

It suddenly occurs to me that Dad's gone and Alfred is grocery shopping. I'm alone in the house, something that rarely happens. No one is here. I could do anything I wanted. _Anything._

I get a wicked smile on my face and shut my textbook. I'm alone in the house, and I know exactly what I want to do. Normal teenagers would drink or invite over boys or take one of the many cars Dad owns for a little joy ride. But I've never been a normal teenager by any means.

I'm going to go into the cave without Dad's permission.

I'm usually an obedient child. Well, for the most part. I may be rebellious by nature, but I also don't fit the mold of the typical teen who does things just to spite her parents or thinks rules are completely stupid. I love my dad and respect the rules he sets in place. In fact, this will be one of the first times I break a rule he's given me. But I don't think it's too big of a deal. The reason I want to sneak down to the cave isn't to do something like surf through the computer or play with his gadgets or something like that.

I just want to see his suit.

For some weird reason, Dad never lets me near his suit, which he keeps in this glass-like case. I stare from afar, but he hates me getting near it. And he said he got it improved today. I'd like to see some of that improved suit, just to see how different it looks, but I know that I'll never get a good look at it if Dad can help it. It must be something to do with his aversion to me ever getting too close to his other life. So, I'm just going to sneak in, see his suit and leave. No harm done.

I jump out of my chair and practically skip to the study where the entrance is. Dad never has to know I went into the cave without his permission.

Because if he did, I'd so be grounded for life.

* * *

**A/N: That is actually what my mom has to do every morning to get me up, by the way. If I had an alarm, I would sleep through it. It takes her a LONG time to get me to even be aware of her presence. And sometimes, she just gets into bed with me and lays there until I finally get up. Yeah, I am NOT a morning person. At all.**

**I don't think I have to spell this one out for you all; leave a comment telling me what you think and favorite this story at your will. You guys are awesome and I'll see you later!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I liked writing this chapter. Yes, I like to write ALL my chapters, but I liked writing this one a lot. Like a lot. Read and enjoy.**

**By the way, Kate (AKA Blake, AKA my best friend) and I accidentally both wore Batman apparel to school today. Well, that and dark jeans and combat boots. We made no plans to coordinate our clothing. It just... happened.**

**Maybe this is why our friendship translates so well into a story...**

* * *

I get down into the cave without any problem. I know it's safe from any outsiders who may be snooping around, but Dad neglected to make his cave 'Vieve-proofed'. Dad knows me, and he should have known I'd sneak down to the cave eventually. I'm much too curious for my own good.

I feel a little pang of guilt, knowing I'm directly defying one of Dad's rules. What would he think of this? I try to convince myself that he wouldn't think much of it, considering I'm not going to snoop through anything important or damage any property. At least, not purposely. You never know with someone as clumsy as me…

I'm just going to take a look at his suit. It's not a huge deal. But, I know I'm only kidding myself. Dad would be pissed if he knew I was defying one of his rules. And I know that. But I'm going into the cave anyway.

Man, I feel like a bad child right now. I'll have to give Dad a hug when he gets home to ease some of my guilt.

I lurch over a bit as the elevator falls to the ground. Even after all the elevators I've been in and all the times I've used this very one, I still can't stand the feeling I get when I'm in one as it descends. Call me old fashioned, but I wish the cave had a set of stairs as an option. But nooooo, Dad had to make it all high-tech!

I jump forward a bit when it comes to a screeching halt in the cave. I step out as soon as the doors open and the place lights up when it senses my presence. I hate the aggressively sterile white color of the cave, but it does look very professional. I wish I could have seen it when it was simply just a cave under the house. Something tells to it would have looked even better. Like somewhere a bat would _actually _hang out.

Ha. _Hang out._

I'm hilarious.

After my mental pat on the back, I spot it. The suit. It's in the designated glass case that I stare at longingly whenever I come down here. For once, there is no Dad here to stop me from getting as close to it as I dare. I can finally _look _at the complicated armor that I've only seen in person twice before. The knowledge fills me with a giddiness that makes me want to squeal in delight.

Yes, I'm getting excited over a suit. Don't you dare judge me.

I walk up to the glass case carefully, like Dad put motion sensors near it to catch intruders. Honestly, I wouldn't put it past him. Luckily, no alarms go off when I get close to it. I let out a relieved breath. I was half expecting to have ropes spring out and tie me up when I came within a foot of this thing. I imagine Dad racing down here to find me tied to the ground, dangerously close to his suit. I shudder. Well, it looks like I know what I'll be seeing in my nightmares tonight!

The suit puts me in a state of awe as soon as my eyes rest on it. I want to reach out and touch it through the glass. It's magnificent. I never realized how carefully each part of it is constructed. The chest and arms look nearly indestructible. The mask sits on the top part of the case and seems to stare straight down at me like Dad's in the suit and can see me right at this very moment. It gives me the creeps. The cape looks so light that I wonder how it holds up Dad's weight as he glides through the night.

My hand reaches out, coming closer and closer to the suit. I just want to run my fingers across the cape and feel the heavy armor underneath my fingers. My hand bumps the glass the keeps me from my goal, and I curse internally. I'm suddenly jealous of Dad for getting to touch the suit, getting to put it on every night to defend the citizens of Gotham. I wish I could know how it feels. Is there a thrill in that type of life? Does he get an adrenaline rush from jumping around buildings and fighting with criminals and saving people? I know that I get one when I stop a mugging or defend some of the weaker kids at school. He must get that times 10.

"I see you've been tempted by the suit."

I jump at the sound of Alfred's voice. A little part of me feels relieved it isn't Dad's voice saying 'Genevieve Iris Wayne' in that calm, yet angry voice he has, but another part of me is still panicked from someone seeing me so close to the suit. He doesn't sound angry, though. In fact, he sounds rather amused by the fact that I snuck down into the cave without Dad's permission and risked punishment just to see the suit. Who in their right mind would go to all that trouble just to see this thing?

Me, apparently.

I turn around to face him with a blush on my cheeks. I've been caught red-handed.

"Well, Dad never lets me get near it, and I wanted to see it for myself…" I mumble. Alfred grins a bit and walks up next to me, looking up at the suit with me. My expression is one of longing, while his is more thoughtful. I have a feeling I'm in for a few words of wisdom. That's one thing I like about Alfred. He has as many words of wisdom as my mom had. He reminds me of her sometimes.

"I know you wish to emulate your father, Miss," he begins. "But his suit is more of a curse to him than a blessing."

I sigh. Yes, I understand that the responsibilities of being Batman must be crushing and intense, but why does that not stop me from wanting to follow in my dad's footsteps? I still wish he'd give me proper training so I could don armor like him and protect my city. I don't know why. Maybe it's some sort of protective instinct I have. I must have whatever Dad has inside him that makes him want to help these people.

We're the same in a lot of ways. He wants to make sure nothing like what happened to his parents happens to anyone again, while I would give anything to make sure no one goes through what my mom and I went through. I want to help my dad save Gotham. This is my home too, and it's not beyond saving. I know Batman has it covered, but I'm not one to sit by. I jump into the action head first. This is no different.

"I know," I respond. I give Alfred a shy smile and rub the back of my neck nervously. A thought just occurred to me. A terrible, nerve-wracking thought.

"Are you going to tell my dad that I snuck in here?" I ask. Oh god, I hope not. It'd be terrible to be trapped in the manor, grounded for thirty years. That's exactly what will happen if Dad knows what I did. I don't break rules, so I've never been grounded before, but I know Dad. He's a strict person. I'd never get away with this without some sort of punishment. Thankfully, Alfred shakes his head.

"This will just be a secret between the two of us. See to it that this doesn't happen again, though."

I nod eagerly and rush over to the elevator to leave with a short goodbye. I silently thank everything holy that it was Alfred who came home and not Dad. Otherwise, I would be escorted to the elevator. After a firm scolding. And a long lecture. And a disapproving head shake.

I'm just really glad Dad didn't catch me.

* * *

How can so much change in a few days?

Only a day or two ago, it seems, Dad was taking care of some business in Hong Kong. He refused to tell me what it was about, of course. He never does tell me about anything serious. But something told me it had some sort of connection to the Joker. I don't know what. It was a gut instinct. Whatever it was, it must have been major for him to leave Gotham, much less the country. And that scares me, much more than I'd care to admit, in fact.

I've been in the training room more hours than usual lately. I've gone jogging the past two mornings. I'm immersing myself further into the martial arts that Dad gave me the starter to. I already push myself the hardest out of everyone in P.E. class, and that will only get stronger once I get back to school on Monday. I've been doing everything I can to keep my body in top condition. Something tells me that whatever it is that's going on in Gotham will only get worse. And I want to be ready for that. Especially now.

Now that the wanna-be Batman was hanged.

Dad tried fiercely to keep it from me, but I saw the news report. Everyone saw the news report. It was gruesome looking. He had white makeup caked on his face and smile slashed at the corners of his mouth, along with red lipstick to complete the sick look. A Joker card saying 'Will the real Batman please stand up?' was on the body. But that's not the part that puzzles me. There was _also _an Ace card on the body, saying 'Nobody was here.'

What the hell does that mean? _Nobody was here? _The _Joker _was there! We know that much. What was the purpose of the additional card? Whatever it means, it's rattling. We know the purpose of the Joker card. It's the Joker leaving his symbol. But an Ace card? No one knows what that's supposed to be.

This entire thing shakes me up. Crane I could handle. He had a master plan and a reasoning behind that. He was neat, meticulous, and secretive. Everything he did had a purpose, so one could find a way to poke holes in it and take him down. But the Joker's actions are so abstract. He does things that seem nearly pointless. He kills because he wants to, and he's not afraid to spread fear throughout Gotham just so he can learn Batman's secret identity. In my opinion, he's much worse than Crane. Maybe he's even worse than the League of Shadows. At least _they _had a solid purpose.

The noise emanating from the living rooms draws me towards it, but I stay close to the wall and out of sight. The voice I can hear from here disturbs me. Something tells me that I'm not supposed to hear this, but my curiosity is getting the better of me. I have to hear whatever it is that's playing on the TV.

I missed a lot of what were words, making them sound like just a muffled voice, but now I can actually hear. And what I do hear disturbs me.

_"You think Batman's made Gotham a better place? Hmm? Look at me. LOOK AT ME!"_

The odd, slightly creepy voice absolutely booms at the end of his sentence. Something about the sound of this voice sends chills up my spine. It's terrifying. It doesn't take a genius to sense this whoever this guy is, his grip on sanity is tenuous.

_"You see? This is how crazy Batman's made Gotham! You want order in Gotham? Batman must take off his mask and turn himself in. Oh, and every day he doesn't, people will die. Starting tonight. I'm a man of my word."_

The voice goes off into insane laughter that sounds downright demonic before some shuffling happens. Then I hear the man he must have been talking to start to scream. The evil laughter is the last thing I hear before static comes and whatever this was is shut off. My stomach turns over. There's no doubt in my mind now.

That was the Joker himself.

Now I really know that this man is a psychopath. He seemed so… happy. He sounded like he enjoyed what he did. Like it was a fun game instead of murder. And that laugh… I'll never be able to tear it out of my mind. For as long as I live, it will be burned in the deepest crevices of my brain, only coming out in my worst nightmares. The Joker is a bigger threat than anyone ever thought.

Still a little rattled, I decide this is the best time to sneak back to my room unnoticed. I wouldn't want Dad knowing that I listened in on something that he obviously would never let me hear otherwise. My socks slide a little on the wood floor as I start to sneak away.

"Genevieve Iris," a firm voice calls.

Crap! He caught me!

There goes my escape plan.

Shyly, I step out into the open and let Dad and Alfred see me. Alfred looks a little shaken by what he heard, like me, but Dad is looking at me sternly. One look at his face makes me want to shrink in my spot. He doesn't look happy, to say the least.

"What do you think you were doing?" he asks evenly. Instead of backing down, I stand up straight and look him in the eyes. There's no use in lying or dancing around the topic. I won't hide what I did. And I won't apologize for it either.

"I was listening in on the tape," I declare. We hold eye contact and have somewhat of a staring contest. Neither of us backs down. I bet he really regrets passing down his stubbornness to me. Finally, Dad narrows his eyes and gives me an even sterner look than before.

"You will stay out of everything related to the Joker or any other crime going on in Gotham City," he tells me. "Do you understand, Genevieve?"

Now I really know he's angry. He rarely calls me Genevieve. When he does, I know there's no room for negotiation. Even though I know he's going to shut me down, I try to get something out in my defense. I'm not one to let things go easily.

"But why…"

"There's not 'but' about it, Genevieve. This is final." Even his tone has finality in it. The look he gives me is one I know well. To him, this conversation is over. Period. His word is final. There's no way he's going to let me anywhere near anything related to the Joker, or even near anything related to Batman. I'm essentially being grounded Batman style.

"Yes, sir," I say a little grumpily. Rarely do I ever call him 'sir'. I can only think of one time or two times when I actually did. I hate it.

Spinning on my heels, I stalk off to my room. Dad's words replay in my head as I walk through my door.

_'This is final.'_

How can he expect me to hear that people are going to die every day and then just tell me to forget about it? How can I ignore death and destruction going on around me?

As I throw myself on my bed, my brown-auburn hair fanning out on the pillow, I come to a conclusion; I can't let this go. Whether he will admit it or not, Dad can't do this alone. He's in deep. People are dying every day he doesn't take off his mask. He _needs _someone to help him, even if he doesn't want anyone to.

It is so _not _final.

* * *

**A/N: Looks like Vieve's being all defiant again. I like it! She's kind of the way I rebel because, well, there's no way I'd do what she does in real life. As nerdy as it sounds, my mom is one of my best friends, so I'd never break any of her rules. Luckily, she doesn't have many. :)**

**Thanks for reading and feels free to tell me what you liked about his chapter or any other thoughts you have! See ya next chapter, my lovely readers. ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I hope you enjoy me turning my anger over my geometry homework (grrrr...) into a chapter with some insults sprinkled throughout. :) Well, Vieve's got an attitude and I am NOT afraid to use it when math is stressing me out. When you're an 'A' student and you currently have a 'C' in a class, you tend to get angry enough to stab something. It was either THAT or writing. So be glad I chose writing. ;)**

* * *

This long, fancy dress makes me squirm around uncomfortably while the high-society people I hate so much chatter politely around me. Yes, I've been forced into yet another get-up to attend a boring event where everyone either kisses up to me or glares at me every time I walk by. What makes it worse it the 'pretend kindness/secret hatred' I get when any of them feel the need to make small talk with me. It's worse with women, who feel the need to make passive-aggressive comments on things like how loud I am, my sarcasm, and even my dad's reputation. Like _I _have anything to do with how people see him. These parties have taught me one important life lesson: Socialites are _bitches. _

This dress isn't too bad. It's a deep blue, one-strap, pleated dress that goes down to my ankles and has a silver belt around the waist. I paired it up with my mom's locket, which I pretty much pair up with everything. It's cute, I guess, but it doesn't change the fact that I hate wearing dresses. And I hate wearing _this_, no matter how good it looks.

Ok, maybe I did admire myself in the mirror after I put it on, but that doesn't mean wearing it is any less torturous.

I tried my level-best to get Dad to let me stay home, but he tempted me with the promise of seeing Rachel. I relented and decided to attend solely because this may be the only event where I get to see Rachel and be a little less bored than usual. She's not like the usual stiffs that attend these things. She's not like the rest of them. She's got more energy and enthusiasm and just plain kindness. Maybe that's why Dad likes her so much.

Speaking of Rachel, I think I've spotted her in the sea of rich people. Her simple, yet elegant green dress and tied up hair make her seem even prettier than usual. She's used to the dress-up scene. She can handle it when it's required. Me, on the other hand, no so much. I'm so out of my element at these fancy parties. I have to remind myself that my usual brash, loud self is frowned upon. So I do my best to shut up and suck it up. I already have a bad reputation among these people for those unflattering plastic surgery comments I said to those little old ladies at my dad's birthday party last year. I'm now seen as a rebellious brat. I don't want to make that reputation worse.

Not for my sake; I couldn't care less what they think of me. I do it for Dad's sake.

"Hey, Rachel!" I call. She turns around at her name and notices me, smiling. The man next to her, his arm in hers, is Harvey Dent. I only know because of the political ads I've seen; _I believe in Harvey Dent_. Not bad, but his slogan could be better. Still, I've heard great things about him. Even from Dad.

"Finally, I've found a sane person here!" I exclaim. Rachel laughs at my very true comment. She's got to be having some trouble finding someone relatively normal too. Even the relatively nice ones are hard to talk to when you're like us.

"And I've finally found someone who isn't so stiff," she declares. It's true that I'm very passionate, while most people here are subdued and boring as all hell. Rachel is one of the only exceptions. I look at Harvey, who looks as still as a statue and a little flushed. He looks like he'll pee his pants at any moment. Poor guy. He's not used to being surrounded by these boring, judgmental jerks. He better get used to it, though.

"You must be Harvey Dent," I guess. He gives me a polite nod and smile.

"And you must be Genevieve Wayne. Your father talks about you often."

Does he really? I never took Dad for the parent who gushed about their kid. Maybe Harvey's just being polite by saying that. He must be. After all, Dad probably would have mentioned that I go by Vieve instead of Genevieve.

"Call me Vieve," I tell Harvey. "And please, don't look so scared. The trust fund brigade will eat you as an appetizer if you don't toughen up and look confident."

His eyes get wider while Rachel laughs beside him. It may have not been the most polite thing to say right away, but it's the truth. If even _I _got used to it, he can too. And I don't have to. He does.

"The mob is easy compared to this bunch," he admits, relaxing a bit. I don't doubt it. At least you don't have to care if the people you put away aren't your biggest fans. Here, status is life or death. Especially for someone like him.

"If it's any reassurance, they hate me more than they'll ever hate you. Just charm them and pretend to be a stick in the mud and they might not suck the life out of you."

Harvey laughs a bit and seems to loosen up even more. It's now that I decide I like this guy. He's not like these up-tight idiots who walk around like they own the place and would scold me for saying what I said to him. He actually seems pretty decent. And if I'm guessing correctly from their body language, he and Rachel are an item.

Ouch. Dad must be nursing a pretty badly bruised ego because of this.

"If all of these people were like you, I wouldn't have to be so worried," he states. Wow, I got someone here besides Rachel to like me? If that's not an accomplishment, I don't know what is!

I elbow Rachel in the side lightly and lean in closer like I'm going to whisper something to her.

"This one's a keeper!" I say loud enough for him to hear. Both Rachel and Harvey laugh. You know, as much as I love my dad and feel like I'm betraying him by admitting this, these two seem pretty happy together. Something tells me that Dad's goal to eventually win over Rachel will never be accomplished. Harvey's already won this one.

Speaking of Dad, I can distinctly hear the sound of a helicopter landing outside on the balcony. I roll my eyes. Of course the legendary _Bruce Wayne _has to make a grand entrance and look even more like an arrogant prick. Sometimes I really wish everyone knew the him that _I _know.

He enters with two women at either side, just like usual. I inwardly groan. Even after seeing it before, I still hate to see him flocked by these superficial women. I know nothing will come of it, but it still bothers me a whole lot. The 'keeping up the persona' thing isn't worth it in my mind.

Dad searches out Harvey Dent and then approaches him, speaking about him and how he's the 'man of the hour'. I zone out as soon as he goes off into some speech to support his campaign. This stuff bores me to tears, and I'm scarily good at shutting people down when they start to bore me. It's a very unfortunate skill to have when school is boring. Maybe that's why I suck at math.

Clapping brings me back to my senses, and I see Dad walk out to the balcony. Rachel follows soon after, leaving Harvey alone, standing awkwardly. I take pity upon the poor guy and rush over to stand with him so he doesn't look so out of place here. Besides, it will give me someplace to stand around here. I usually just awkwardly hang around the food table most of the time, puttering around until it's time to leave.

"I see you're warming up to this," I remark as I approach. He shakes his head and sighs, looking around nervously.

"I feel like I'm shark bait around these people," he admits. I laugh a bit. That was a scarily appropriate comparison.

"Believe me, my friend, you are. This whole thing is in your honor, remember?"

He shakes his head and grabs the champagne when Alfred passes by with them. I can see Alfred's small grin as Harvey chugs it down like he hasn't had anything to drink in days. Jesus, the man is nervous!

Behind us, Dad and Rachel walk back in. I decide to give Harvey and Rachel a little time by themselves. I don't want to cling to them the entire night. They need their space. So, I resume my usual position over by the snack table and grab some of my usual cheese and crackers that stand out amongst the fancier food selection. They're my default food. No matter where we are, they're always part of the food selection.

I keep a watchful eye on Harvey and Rachel. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm just this bored. I'm just looking for my opportunity to jump back into a conversation with them. But I sense a problem brewing between the two. Harvey's tense again, and Rachel looks exasperated. Did they get into a fight? God, I'm prying into something I'm not involved in, but I can't help it. It's just the way I am. Here is not a good place for a lover's spat, and my presence is the perfect thing to make sure that doesn't happen. I leave the snack table and get closer and closer to them with the intent of breaking up the tense moment.

But Dad beats me there.

As soon as I get close enough to speak, Dad suddenly has Harvey by the neck in a choke-hold and renders him unconscious, dragging him over to the closet nearby.

"What are you doing?" Rachel asks, mirroring my thoughts. What the hell is Dad doing?! Just dragging him off like that? It's so irrational and crazy that I can't possibly think of a reasonable motive, so I step up next to Rachel, just as shocked as she is. This isn't something Dad would do without reason, right?

Then what the hell is the reason?

"They're here," Dad says simply. I stiffen and suck in a breath. Now I know the reason. I know exactly what he's talking about.

The Joker.

He's making good on his sick threat. And he's starting with one of the most important people he can think of; Harvey Dent.

But I won't panic. I can't. I need to keep a level head if I have any chance of staying unharmed. And maybe even helping get them out of here.

"Rachel, you should get in there with him," I suggest, pointing to the closet. "He might wake up and try to break out." She nods frantically and squeezes herself into the tight closet with him. Dad slams the door shut and uses a metal bar to make sure no one can break through and take them. Then he's off. He's off to put on the suit and save us all. Now I have to remain calm and go back out there. Act casual.

How the hell do I act casual now that I know what's coming?

I walk out into the crowd, keeping my head held high and shuffling over to the food table again. I stand by it stiffly, keeping as casual as humanly possible. Well, I keep as casual as I usually am at these things.

Until the gunshot.

Everyone seems to duck simultaneously when the gunshot rings throughout the building. Even I do, though I was expecting as much. A gang of men come in, most holding guns. Except for the one in front. And he's a man we all recognize well. He has white makeup caked haphazardly on his face. Black eye makeup is painted on his eyelids messily. His lips are painted a messy red that stretches out to the corners of his mouth. The scars are visible underneath the red paint.

The Joker has made an appearance.

"We are tonight's entertainment!" he jokes. "Now where is Harvey Dent?" Everyone freezes. No one dares to make so much as a gasp. Meanwhile, the Joker goes around asking random people down the line if they know where Harvey is. It's almost comical the way he does it. I'm sure if we weren't all too busy trying not to be killed, we'd be laughing right now.

"You know, I'll settle for his loved ones," he says while standing in front of an older man, chewing on some sort of appetizer.

"We're not intimidated by thugs," the old man shoots back. I mentally groan. Seriously, dude, the Joker is no ordinary 'thug'. If all 'thugs' were like him, we'd all be screwed. The Joker seems like he agrees with me, giving the man a glare with an 'oh, really?' look plastered on his white face.

"You know," he begins casually. "You remind me of my father." In a flash, he has a blade out from his pocket, grabbing the man by the back of the head and bringing the sharp knife close to the man's face.

"I _hated _my father," the Joker growls. From the looks of it, he's about to give this man a matching set of mouth scars. My hands clench in anger.

Oh, no. Not on my watch he isn't.

"Hey, Chuckles!" I call from the other end of the table. "How 'bout you pick on someone a little more in your league?"

The Joker turns all his attention from the terrified man to me. When our eyes meet, I swear I'm staring into two black holes, void of all emotion except a twisted amusement he seems to take in my outburst. His stoic eyes scare the crap out of me, but I stand strong. I won't be intimidated by the Joker, no matter how powerful he really is. He wants me to be afraid. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. But he seems to take an interest in me. With a demented smile, he lets go of the old man and practically skips over towards me.

"Well hello, beautiful!" he says, brushing his green hair behind his ears with his knife. "You have a lot of fire in such a tiny body, you know that? It must all be stored in your hair."

I guess they call him the 'Joker' for a reason.

He walks around me, looking me up and down as he circles my body like a vulture. The feeling of his eyes scanning me like I'm his prey unnerves me. I cower, like I can somehow hide myself from his withering gaze. But there's nothing I can do to get this unwanted attention off me.

"Oh, you look nervous. Is it the scars?" Yes, that among many other things. He only gets closer to me, his knife still in hand. I look at it as a little glint of light shines off of it. I gulp a little. That looks like it hurts…

"You wanna know how I got 'em?" he asks. Before I can refuse as loudly and with as many colorful words as possible, he nods a little to himself and uses his gloved hand to grab me around my upper neck, some of his fingers touching my face. My body goes into reaction mode, and I start to squirm around as he uses his other hand to grab the other side of my face. I feel the cool blade press up against my cheek and only squirm more. I'm not coming out of this with mouth scars to match his.

"Hey," he whispers harshly. "Look at me." I do anything but, still squirming around in his tight hold. He eventually steadies me, and I'm forced to look at his face. I see everything I saw from afar – the scars, the slapdash makeup – up close and personal. _Way _too personal.

"So I had a wife," he begins with the knife still pressed firmly against my cheek. "She looked beautiful, like you. Who tells me I worry too much. Who tells me I outta smile more. Who gambles and gets in deep with the sharks. One day they carve her face. And we've got no money for surgeries. She can't take it."

His tone is changing as he tells his story. Each sentence has a different emotion tinged to it. It almost makes me think that his story is real.

_Almost_.

"I just wanna see her smile again. I just want her to know that I don't care about the scars." He shakes my head a little as he finishes his sentence, as if to add emphasis to this. I scowl at him. One more minute with him holding my face, and I may lose it. I squirm around even more, tilting my head to the side to try and get his fingers to stop digging in to my cheeks. He violently brings my head back to face him.

"So, I stick a razor in my mouth, and do this," He then proudly shows off his scarred cheeks, smiling with his tongue sticking out as he does so. "To myself." I narrow my eyes, wishing for nothing more than being able to break out of his grip and take that knife from him to give him a few _more _scars.

"And you know what?" he asks, his voice shaking slightly with anger. "She can't stand the sight of me. She _leaves_."

"I don't think it was just the scars that made her leave," I growl, finally finding my voice. The Joker giggles a bit like I'm a cute kid who just made a joke. I shake in rage. That wasn't meant to be funny. But of course, everything is to the Joker.

"You see the funny side in things, Red. Well, now so do I. Now I'm always smiling!"

He's finally released his tight grip on my face finally, giving me room to move if I please. The nickname only builds up my anger even more, and it comes to an explosion when I bring my knee up to slam him in the stomach. He goes back with a grunt, but then slowly looks up and grins at me while laughing.

"You've got a little fight in you, Red. I like that."

"Then you're gonna love me."

I smirk. Chuckles here is gonna get it.

* * *

**A/N: Is it bad to love the Joker? If so, I'm guilty as charged. How can you NOT feels some sort of emotion about the guy? He's one of the best villains EVER. And the craziest one too.**

**See ya later, and please tell me your thoughts!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: You all probably guessed already that Bruce wasn't going to be happy with Vieve for saying something to the JOKER of all people. Well, prepare to read the lecture that I had so much fun writing. :)**

* * *

Batman launches the first punch at the Joker, throwing him off balance and sending his falling to the ground like I did minutes ago. The Joker's minions come rushing after Batman with their fists raised in retaliation. So the fight begins. Despite an overwhelming urge to jump in, I know that it's a stupid idea. I would only get in my dad's way. He works alone and doesn't like when others intervene.

And I hate that.

So, I'll do the only thing I can do right now; stay on the sidelines. Not being able to do anything? Let me tell you, it sucks. _Majorly. _I feel so useless right now, watching the fight and not being able to do anything about it. I can't do anything to contribute. Why? Oh yeah, because I only know simple self-defense!

Spotting another one of the Joker's cronies coming after Batman, I get an idea in my head. It's something that might actually work without throwing Batman off his game. And it's something that will make me feel a little less useless. Something I can actually _do_. I grab two of the champagne glasses off the table and hit the man from behind the head, one after the other. He goes down after the second hits him. The alcohol can't feel good on the wounds I probably opened up in the back of his head.

Good.

Before I can grab another glass, an arm gets me around my neck and pulls me backwards. I twist around and claw at the arm with my sharp nails, but the grip is unrelenting. My body gets dragged further and further away from Batman and the action going on in front of me. I start gasping for breath as I squirm. I feel like an animal, caught in some sort of trap. I'm stuck. I hate feeling stuck.

After some effort, I finally manage to twist my head around to see the face of the man who grabbed me. I don't even need the visual confirmation to know it's the Joker. I just know. But I _didn't _know he was holding a gun to me.

"Put the gun down," Batman commands. It's now that he's teetering on the edge from being Batman and being my dad. I'm in danger, which brings out his fatherly instincts, but he's still on the job. He can't show that he's overly concerned for me. Not anymore than he would be for anyone else.

"Oh, sure!" the Joker replies. "You just take off your little mask and show us all who you really are!"

Batman makes no move to do so, and I'm grateful. I wouldn't want him to do that for me. To me, his secret identity is more important than my own safety, as crazy as that sounds. But despite this, I'm scared shitless when I hear the Joker shoot the window behind him, knocking all the glass out. Now I know his plan for me. And I know I can't let that happen. If I can just break away from him, I'll survive. It might be my only chance! I thrash around more, hoping to get that opening again like last time where I can slip out of his grip and dash away. But he's not letting up.

Instead, he grabs my arm and hoists me over to the edge of the window. I can feel my body dangling in the air, the wind blowing against me long dress. I feel oddly weightless, but still on edge. Literally. I shiver, not entirely sure if it's from the cold or from the fear coursing through my veins. He's going to _throw me out a freaking window! _Who wouldn't be peeing their pants in fear right now? I don't make a single move, terrified that it could push me over the edge and kill me. My air supply seems limited all of the sudden, and I struggle for my breath.

I'm panicking.

_Great._

"Let her go," Batman commands in a growl. The Joker shakes his head, laughing like a little kid.

"Very poor choice of words," he reprimands. He then looks at me, shrugs simply, and says, "Terribly sorry, Red. I liked you, I really did." The weight of his hand on my arm leaves me, and then I feel it. I feel the weightlessness and the air rushing up to meet my body. I'm falling over the edge. I'm falling to my death.

The feeling… I can't exactly put it into words. I thought it would feel worse than it actually does. Besides the sinking feeling I get in my gut, it actually doesn't feel anything like I expected it to. How would _you _react knowing you'll die in 30 seconds tops? Everything is going too fast to consider any emotion I may feel. But I still have logic, and I still know that if I let myself fall, I'll die. And I know that I really, _really _don't want to die.

I slam my arms against the side of the glass building, but predictably, they slip. My body continues to plummet, no matter how hard I try to hold on to anything solid that I can find. Now my reality is starting to really settle in. I'm really going to die. And I'm powerless to stop it.

A giant black figure comes down after me. A very familiar black figure. _Batman_. I reach my arms up, desperately hoping for him to find some way to reach me before it's too late. But he seems so far away! I'm scared that he's not falling fast enough to catch up with me. I started to plummet before him, after all.

He keeps falling after me until our hands are mere centimeters apart. I reach up frantically, trying to ignore the feeling of my body rushing to make contact with the hard pavement below me. The only thing I focus on is staying calm enough to be able to reach him.

His hand grabs mine and he brings my body up to his suit. As my face connects with his armored chest, I finally let out a short scream. The initial terror has passed. I've regained control my voice.

I can't scream when I'm too scared. Weird, huh?

I feel us tumbling and rolling around as we fall. His cape covers my body, and despite the terror that fills my being and threatens to spill out of my throat in a long scream, his presence makes me feel safe. Secure. Consciously, I know that I'm not in danger of dying anymore, but I'm still scared out of my mind. Can you really blame me? I'm not the one here with armor to survive these impacts!

Our bodies come to a sudden standstill, hitting something hard. I make an 'ump' sound when the wind gets knocked out of me. For just a split second, I think it's the pavement of the streets and that I suffered massive internal injuries that I just can't feel yet. But when I open my eyes and cautiously look around me, I see the yellow hood of a car and glass surrounding me. We landed on a taxi. We're safe.

My head rolls over, hitting Batman's armor. Relief fills my body, but a certain amount of unease stays in me, settling in the pit of my stomach. It's heavy and unsettling. Thoughts swirl in my mind, too fast to grip onto just one. Batman's arms go around me and pull me tighter to the suit.

"Are you okay?" he asks, still using the deep, raspy Batman voice. I never understood why he uses that around people who already know his secret identity. But, I play along. I have before. His eyes search my body for any visible injures.

"Yeah," I breathe out. "Just peachy." Even when I'm coming down from the most terrifying high of my life (no pun intended), I'm still being sarcastic. Batman – who has now taken on his role as Dad – gives me a look that asks me to tell the truth. He can never take what I say at face value, can he?

"No you're not," he insists. He knows me too well. I'm not okay. I'm not even near okay. Sure, I'm alive and pretty damn happy about that fact, but I'm not 'okay'. Truthfully, I can't shake this feeling. The feeling that if I had proper training in how to defend myself and think on my feet, I could have avoided being tossed out a window. I had no way to stop it from happening. Batman could stop himself from getting thrown out a freaking window. But _I _don't have his training. A certain someone refused to train me further.

And I have a sinking feeling that something like this will happen more than once. I need that training now more than ever.

"I just felt… useless, you know?" I say. "I stood by while it was all happening, and the best thing I could manage was hitting some guy in the back of the head with a glass. I felt like I couldn't do _anything._"

_Dad _gives me a sympathetic look. Yes, he's Dad now. The tough Batman act has vanished. He's now a concerned parent.

"I know. And I'm sorry."

He's sorry? What is there to be sorry for? He doesn't have anything to do with me being thrown out a window by the Joker. I say nothing. The only thing I can do is lay my head down on his chest. I'm exhausted. Everything has come crashing down on me, making my body heavy as the adrenaline rush starts to wear off.

"Let's not talk about it right now," Dad suggests. "Let's just get you home."

I sigh gratefully. I'm too tired to talk about anything so heavy right now. I'm done with this day and can't wait to crawl in bed and pass out cold. But I also know Dad enough to know one thing.

I'm going to get hell about this later.

* * *

"What were you thinking?!"

I sink down in my chair a little bit further as Dad paces in front of me, just starting my lecture. I'm not ashamed of what I did. I'll admit that. I may have saved that man's life, and I'd do it again in a second. But when I woke up this morning and Dad called me into his study with little emotion in his voice, I knew that he disagreed. To him, what I did was just plain suicidal. And maybe it was. I didn't exactly have time to think my plan through when the Joker held a knife to someone's mouth. I just acted. And now I have to deal with the aftermath of a pissed-off Dad.

I'd rather be dealing with the Joker.

"Do you have any idea what you're messing with?" he asks angrily. "He is no average criminal that you can just fight off with some punches and pepper spray. He could have killed you with his knife in second, and I would have been too late. Hell, he _did _try to kill you! And he almost succeeded. If I had been a second later…" He shakes his head and looks at the floor with a grim expression. "You're lucky I got to you in time. Otherwise, I'd be burying you right now."

He's practically growling at me by now. He sounds pissed, but I know that it's only because he's concerned about me. I scared him badly when I fell from that window. And I don't think he was all happy-go-lucky when he saw the Joker holding a blade to my face either. But I won't back down from what I did, no matter how much Dad resents it. I know I did a good thing.

"What did you expect me to do?" I ask. "He was going to kill a man. I only did what was right. I'm following your example, after all…"

He narrows his eyes and points at me angrily. Damn, I should have known better than to say that last sentence! Whenever I bring up Batman as an excuse, Dad gets angry. I can practically predict what he's going to say already.

"Don't you _dare _pin this on me." Yep, I was right. "You were reckless, stupid and you could have died. And I seem to remember this isn't the first time that you've made a rash decision that came at a high price!"

I stiffen. He did _not _just bring that up. Blake will not be dragged into this conversation if I have any say in it.

"Dad," I grumble. "Too far."

He gets my message and thankfully lays off the subject. Even if Dad is the parent here and has the right to lecture as much and as harshly as he wishes, he respects my boundaries. It's a good thing too. I don't think I'd be able to control my anger if he continued on the topic. And then we'd be in a whole _other _fight.

"My point is, this cannot go on. You can't thrust yourself into these situations when you have no idea how to handle them."

I glare at him intensely. I can handle myself just _fine_, thank you very much. Sure, I can't exactly take down the Joker, but if I was locked in a room with one of his cronies, I think we all know how I would fair. My only problem is that I don't have the proper training to handle the likes of the Joker, who surpass the common criminal in both strength and sheer insanity. But that's not my fault. I can't train myself. Someone has to help me with that.

But he doesn't want to.

"Well, maybe if I was given some more instruction on HOW to handle them, then I wouldn't get chucked from windows by insane clowns anymore."

Dad gives me a deadly look. Ok, so humor isn't appreciated here. Good to know.

"If I give you any training, how will I know that you're not going to use it to place yourself in situations like this because you _think _you can handle it?"

So that's what he's worried about. He thinks that if I know how to effectively kick the ass of people like the Joker, I'll go around trying to purposely put myself in dangerous situations just because I can. Now, I'm not _that _stupid. I'm not going to purposely try and get myself killed. But do I have much of a choice? It's not like the Joker is going away anytime soon.

"Dad, c'mon," I begin exasperatedly. "You know that things are going to change around here. You know that more than anybody else. Last night, I was caught in the cross-fire. And that might not be the first time that happens. You can't just lock me up in the house and expect nothing bad will ever happen to me!"

He wheels around from his spot near the window and gets closer to me, scowling.

"And why can't I?" he asks angrily. "You're better off here, untrained, than you are out there, trained!"

"You know that's a lie!" I shoot back. "The Joker is taking over Gotham, and nothing can stop him from reaching whoever he wants to! _Nothing!_"

Dad turns his back to me, running his hand through his hair in frustration. It was a low blow, but it's true and he knows it. Keeping me here won't keep me from the chaos that this city is slowly descending into. The Joker will make sure of that much. I'm no good to anyone when the best I can do is knock one of his minions unconscious. There's no way to save me from this. There's no way to save _anyone _from this.

But I can save myself from getting killed when something like this happens again.

"Dad…" I start, unsure of where I'm going. How do I ask something like this from him without causing him to send me to my room? Knowing him, he might very well do that, but it's worth a shot. And if I get grounded for life… Well, my bedroom has a window in it. I'll just have to acquire a ladder somewhere.

"I think that I need to –,"

"You want to be trained the way I was?" he interrupts. My mouth remains opened in shock. He actually _brought it up_. I thought he was going to shut me down the minute I finished my sentence. Instead, he shut me down in the middle of my sentence to say what _I _was going to say. Training has been a taboo issue in our household ever since he taught me simple self-defense. I would subtly prod him with the idea of training me further, and he would just pull further away to get me off the subject. It annoyed me to no end, but I chose not to push it. It would only drive him away more, and then I'd never get that training that I want so bad.

I just nod, completely dumbfounded. He's rendered _me _speechless. And let me tell ya, that's a hard thing to do. Most people I know probably wish they had this skill.

Dad crosses his arms over his chest and clears his face of all emotion while addressing me. Something about him has changed from when I first walked in this room. He looks more determined and less angry. It's like he's trying to prove a point.

"Very well. You're right about the city no longer being safe. And that means you're no longer safe either. You need to have proper knowledge and tools to handle yourself around here. I'll teach you if that's what you want."

Oh, um, let me think about that for a second: how about YES?! Of course I want him to teach me! I've finally worn him down on the issue. I'll finally get that damn training! He has _no _idea how much I want it. I'm going to work harder at this than he ever expected me to. I'll surpass all his expectations. I'm one of the most stubborn people I know. I'm not about to let him down on this.

"Be up by 6:30 tomorrow," he commands. His gaze is intense. It's like he wants me to back out or expects me to find the training too hard and give up. If that's true, he's underestimating me again.

"You want training? I'll show you training."

* * *

**A/N: Even if I'd end up driving him to insanity, I would SO want Batman as a father. Right now, I'm super jealous of Vieve. Even if she did get a lecture... Well, lovely readers, you know what to do. Tell me what you think and all that jazz, and I'll see you when I update next!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Now, I must admit, I thought writing a training montage would be harder. Now, it IS pretty hard, but not as bad as I thought it was going to be, you know? I listened to 'I'll Make a Man Out of You' and it all sort of fell into place! Enjoy, my dear readers!**

* * *

_"You're useless!" an angry voice raged in my ear. I slid my little, seven year old body down the wall and tried to block out the yelling by raising my arms in front of my face. It was a defense tactic I always tried. It just never seemed to work. I could always hear his roaring insults pummel me like fists. It was just a constant._

_"I don't ask that much of you! But even when I _do _ask you to do something, you can NEVER do it right!" I covered my ears so I wouldn't have to hear him. I was so young and couldn't understand why my step-father just didn't like me. What did I do? I tried so hard to be a good child. He was the other father I had ever known. I loved him with all of my tiny heart; why didn't he love me back? Was I that hard to love?_

_"You're a screw up!" he exclaimed. "You've always been a screw up, and you always will be! Did your mother really raise you to be this _stupid_?" I wanted to shoot back that my mother was very smart and raised me to be the same way, but he always got even angrier whenever I back-sassed him, so I learned to keep quiet._

_"You're pathetic," he spat out. "You're a disgrace. If I had known marrying your mother meant getting stuck with you as a daughter, I never would have proposed in the first place." That was it. That was the final straw. When he said that, I finally started to cry. Tears ran down my small face, which I tried to hide from him. My tears embarrassed me. I thought they made me the human exemplification of weakness. So I always did my best to hide them. And I always failed._

_But one good thing came of them; they scared my step-father. He was afraid that my mom would be able to tell I was crying from my red, puffy eyes and would get the truth out of me. The verbal taunting he put me through was supposed to be a secret. That's what he always told me. I was not to bother my mom with it._

_"Oh, c'mon, Red," he said, using his occasional nickname for me. "You know I'm only trying to motivate you." His tone changed, like it always did when this happened. He became almost sweet and caring. It was like the usual pattern of an abusive parent; there was the hurling of insults, followed by apologies that really weren't like apologies. They were more like excuses. Really pathetic excuses._

_But I always fell for them._

_"You know I only do this because I care, right Red?" he asked. I stubbornly wiped away my tears and nodded slowly. He smiled at me, something that rarely happened. Because of the rarity of them, his smiles made me feel great. They made me feel special, like I had finally done something right for a change._

'He's right,' _I thought. _'I mess stuff up all the time. I need to be a good girl like he always tells me to be.'

_He lifted me onto his lap with ease and gave me another disarming smile along with it._

_"Now, are we going to tell Mommy about this?" he asked. I shook my head like I always did when he asked that question. My answer made him mess with my hair a bit, which brought another smile to my face. It reminded me of the good days when he and Mom were still dating, when he'd do that every time he saw me. When I actually felt like he loved me._

_"Good little Red."_

The blaring of the alarm, playing _Radioactive_, jolts me from my nightmare. I let out a breath of relief to find myself back in reality. In the present. The events of last night come back to me at the same time, and I finally realize why I hated it so passionately when the Joker called me 'Red'.

He's not the first person to use that name.

I can't believe I forgot about that. Did I block the memory out somehow? Or did I just simply forget because I never think of it? Whatever happened, I wish that memory had stayed buried. Remembering it only brings on a new wave of pain, like it's happening all over again. There's a reason that while I will fondly think about my mom and the times we shared, I refuse to even approach the topic of my step-father. I simply don't think about it. He's one of the few things about my past I have yet to confront. He resides in the darkest corners of my mind, only coming out in my worst nightmares.

Like this one.

But there's not time to think about this. It's 6:25! I need to get dressed and head to the training room to meet Dad. Today is the first official day of my training. I think I have some idea of how it's going to go; Dad will push me until I'm a sweating, heaving, pile of limbs sprawled across the floor and then he'll ask me if I want to quit yet. And I'll tell him 'no' and drag my ass up from the floor.

Knowing Dad, the first day is only a test to see if I have the dedication that it takes. And I do. I know I do. That's the thing about me; if you tell me I can't do something, I'll do it for the sole purpose of proving you wrong. I'm stubborn and refuse to let Dad best me by getting me to admit that training is too much. I'll shock him. I guarantee that he underestimated the stubbornness he passed down to me.

Soon enough, I manage to change into my black tank-top that reads 'Short Girl Probs' across it and black sweat pants. I slip on a simple pair of socks and brush my hair back, pulling it into a pony tail. I'm not actually sure if this is a proper work out outfit, but it's what I wear when I run and when I use the training room myself. I'm sure I've never been worked as hard as I will be today, so I'm not sure if this will do. The sweat pants will _really _be full of sweat today.

The house is still dark as I walk through it towards the training room. Butterflies flitter around in my stomach as I get closer and closer to my destination. Just because I'm determined doesn't mean I'm not nervous as hell. Because I am. I really, really am. This will be without a doubt one of the hardest things I will ever have to strive to accomplish. I know Dad will push me until I reach my breaking point. He'll show no mercy just because I'm his daughter. In fact, I think that may just make him work me harder than it would otherwise. I'm going to be sore all over my body after this is over.

I finally make it in the training room. No turning back now, I guess. The place is already lit up and full of equipment. On the other side of the room, Dad has his back turned to me, stringing up punching bags.

"I see you've made it on time," he says without even turning around to face me. Is he surprised by that? Wow, he had that little faith in me. All the more reason to prove him wrong. I'm full of surprises.

"Yes, I did. And I'm ready when you –,"

Before I can finish my sentence, a foam ball is chucked at my side. I try to dodge it but jumping away, but it hits me before I get the chance. What. The. Hell.

"You can never be ready," he lectures. "You have to learn to expect the unexpected and be prepared for whatever life throws at you." Ha. Life literally threw something at me.

I am in no mood for jokes at 6:30 a.m.

I must admit, I never expected this way of teaching from him. It seems pretty eccentric to throw a foam ball at your student in order to teach them that life is full of surprises. But I suppose I can deal with it. I'm not backing down now. I've already agreed to this without knowing how he would teach me. Backing down would be weak.

Before I can open my mouth and say anything else, Dad takes another ball and throws it at me again. This time, I'm able to dodge it with ease. I guess I was more prepared this time. He looks pleased with my success.

"Run some laps around the room," he tells me.

"Until when?" I ask. He narrows his eyes. Clearly, he is not fond of questions. He's my drill sergeant and I'm the soldier. I'm not supposed to ask. I'm just supposed to do.

"_Until_ I tell you to stop. Now go!"

I start to run the perimeter of the gym floor without any further questions. Wouldn't want to make him angrier than he already is.

I jog my laps around the outside of the circle, singing the song _I'll Make a Man Out of You _from the movie 'Mulan'. It's my go-to inspirational work-out song when I'm jogging around the neighborhood. It was one of the songs I discovered with Blake. We were obsessed with the movie and knew every lyric to the song. There's no better way to motivate you.

Another foam ball comes flying at me, which hits the side of my head. I didn't see that one coming. At all. It seemed like it came out of nowhere! I was distracted trying to get through the running, so I didn't notice the projectile being thrown my way. My failure to dodge the stupid foam ball frustrates me, but I continue running.

"You need to be able to dodge while running, not one or the other!" Dad shouts from the other side of the room, carefully throwing a foam ball up and down in his hand. It taunts me.

"No matter what you're doing and where, you have to be prepared."

With that, he throws another ball at me. This one, I dodge easily while still running. I know it sounds like an easy task to some, but it is actually much harder than you may think. Especially when it's thrown by someone with a good aim like Dad.

Another ball goes straight past my head, nearly hitting me. I flick my neck back a bit, dodging it before moving on. Before I can even have a chance to get a few steps in, another goes towards my legs. I jump up in mid-air and avoid the ball that hits the wall behind me. Another one nearly hits my arm. Then another comes towards my torso.

This day just keeps getting better and better.

* * *

"Fifty-eight," I choke out as my body rises and falls. "Fifty-nine." I wheeze a little more, trying to keep it as silent as possible.

Pushups _suck_.

I'm in my second set of pushups, and my body is on fire. Everything in my body that one relies on to tell you if you've gone too far? Well, they're screaming at me right now to just give up. I can hardly stand it. The pain is a constant. But I press on, despite my arms that feel like they're being licked by flames and my lungs that feel like they're filled with smoke. The driving force behind me staying upright is that I know Dad is waiting for me to collapse. He expects me to.

Since when have I ever done as I was expected?

"Keep going," Dad prods. He doesn't have to tell me twice. I push my small arms up and down, rising and falling with each pushup. This hurts like hell. But I can't stop now.

"Sixty-two," I continue. "Sixty-three. Sixty-four."

At least _'I'll Make a Man Out of You' _is still playing in my head. When something like that is there to distract me, then I don't focus on the pain. I block it out. I'm able to focus on the song and not the turmoil that is going on in my body. And believe me, this kind of pain is hard to block out.

"Sixty-seven. Sixty-eight."

"Stop," Dad commands. Finally! I bring my knees up to my chest and sit on the floor carefully. Collapsing would have been much more satisfying right now, but it would have made me look weak in front of Dad. I can't do that.

"Get up."

I do as he says, though my legs are wobbly. All I want to do is rest.

"Keep running," he tells me. Oh, great. Whoopie-freaking-do. I get to run again. And dodge balls that Dad chucks at me. Woohoo. A tiny, tiny part of my brain shouts at me to just give this up and walk out the door, to my room and chuck myself onto my bed so I can sleep until next week. But the larger, more determined part of my brain tells me that I don't give up. It's not what I do. I push myself until there's nothing left to push. I don't give in. I'm strong, determined, and defiant. I won't give in to my exhaustion and what Dad has been trying to get me to do. I can't.

"Yes, sir," I respond firmly. Then I get up and start to run.

_Again._

* * *

I've been through curl-ups, pushups, running, having foam balls thrown at me, standing in one spot while a machine hurled _freaking tennis balls at me_, jumped rope until my legs went numb, beat up some punching bags, and did various warm-ups that I've now found are extremely painful in abundance.

So, basically, I'm dead by now.

I'm on my last pull-up. My very. Last. Pull-up. And victory has never tasted so sweet on my dehydrated mouth. As I raise my body above the bar using all the strength I have remaining in my tired body, I let out a little sigh. After all this time, I'm finally done. I've finally finished this day from hell. My body has never been through this much stress. I feel like every nerve in me is alive and screaming. My muscles burn. My bones ache. Everything hurts.

But it was worth it. All of it.

When my body is lowered from the bar safely, I finally let go of the thing holding me up and collapse onto the floor. Just like I predicted, I've ended up in this position. My body is slick with sweat that soaks through my tank top and sweat pants. Even my hair is wet with the sweat. My limbs feel numb. They lay limp, sprawled across the floor. My chest heaves, and my mouth feels dry. Water. That's all I'm thinking about. That and crawling into my bed after a nice, long, hot shower.

Dad bends over and looks down at me. I meet his eyes and stoically prepare myself for the next task on his list. Whatever it is, I'll take it without complaint. Whatever it is, I'll do it. I'll do anything to prove myself to him.

"Do you want to give up now?" he asks. Just like I imagined, he's trying to get me to quit. He's giving me a way out.

"You can walk out that door right now and go back to your life with a proficient amount of knowledge on self-defense and settle for that. I won't stop you. OR you could come back here tomorrow and train with me again. And you can work your way up with each passing day. You can become something more. It's your choice."

I have a decision to make. I can give my body a break and never do this again. I could defend myself from the next guy off the street who tries to mug me. I could ignore the entire Joker debacle and go back to my life. I could be normal.

Who the hell wants to be _normal? _It's vastly overrated.

I look back up at Dad and say with my voice void of emotion, "Here. Tomorrow. Same time."

Dad smiles when the words leave my mouth. He knew I was going to say them. He gave me more credit than I thought he did. He reaches his hand out and helps me up. My legs feel numb, but I manage to stand on my feet and face him with my back straight and my head held high. He slaps me on the shoulder. After all the work-outs from today, I nearly fall down from that one little action. It's a good thing I held myself up. That would have been embarrassing.

"I'm proud of you," he admits quietly. I give him a grin. Dad's not one to throw something like that around whenever he feels like it. He only says it when he means it. And the fact that he's proud of my efforts is enough to make me feel they're worthwhile.

I break away from Dad and start walking towards the door, grabbing a towel while I do. I wipe the sweat from my body as best as I possibly can before throwing it over my shoulder.

"Where are you going?" Dad calls.

"Back to bed!" I respond. Dad looks at the watch on his wrist, perplexed.

"But it's already 9:30," he says curiously. I turn to face him, cross my arms over my chest and raise my eyebrows.

"Your point?" I ask. He opens his mouth to say something in retaliation, but closes it just as quickly. Then he sighs and turns away, going to get some of the equipment. I smirk. Living with me has taught Dad a very important lesson; logic does not apply to me.

Because, after all, who wants to be normal?

* * *

**A/N: Well, I'm off to bed now. I stayed up WAY too late to post this. And I will pay for it tomorrow. :) Please tell me what you think and all that stuff - gah, I'm too tired to go through the speech. BYE!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This chapter is significantly shorter than my usual chapters, but you can blame that on the next chapter. To find a good stopping point, I had the option of either ending the chapter where it is now, or making it ridiculously long. On that note, enjoy!**

* * *

My training has gone well, if I do say so myself. So far, I've mastered a lot of gymnastics and reached a mile speed of 6 minutes as well as being able to hold my own in a sword fight against Dad. I've focused most of my energy on things that center on being agile. Being small and quick, I rely more on my cleverness and my ability to move diligently compared to brute strength that people like Dad can use to their advantage. My strengths rest in the fact that I'm small and slim. I'd say I have some advantages. Sure, people who are strong have a lot of advantages too, but if they're slow, I'm fairly sure I could take them down. I'm pretty damn good at this now. I don't mean to sound arrogant or overly-confident in my abilities, but I've gotten to a level I never thought I'd ever reach. I feel strong, powerful, and brave.

Most of all, I feel safe.

With my new skills, I can protect myself against anything that comes my way. No matter what happens, I'm prepared. But defending myself isn't the _only _thing that comes to mind after gaining these new skills. Defending the people of Gotham weighs heavily on my mind also. It's not like Dad will ever let me don a suit like him, but I wish he would. I'm capable. I know I am. I just need the chance. But of course, being my father, he thinks that he needs to shield me as best as he possibly can. But I think I can take care of myself.

Right now, Dad and I are deep into an intense sparring match. We're both tired, sweaty, and still fighting fiercely. And I see almost no way of winning. Sure, I could get Dad pinned if I tried really hard, but I'm a lightweight. He could throw me off him in a second and pin me himself. Then, I wouldn't be able to get up, therefore he'd win. How can I get him down for an extended period of time? He's so large and I'm so little. Being quick will only take me so far.

I don't have time to think it through before Dad lunges at me again. I sidestep him and use my elbow to deliver a jab to his back. Then I manage to kick his knees out from under him, causing him to go tumbling down on the mat. I jump on his back while he's down, but he's already starting to get up by the time my legs land around his waist. If I can just manage to pin him for a little bit longer, I can win this match. And I have _never _won against Dad before. He's the goddamn Batman!

I search my memory and find something that may help me get the upper hand. Dad taught me about pressure points during one of our training sessions, telling me how to find them and how to best trigger them. His advice will be his downfall today. I take two fingers and quickly run them down his back, one on either side of his spine. I stop at the point directly below his elbows and press down with all my might. Dad's back stiffens and he falls to the ground again. I place my body over the unoccupied space on his back to make sure he stays down while my fingers remain pressed firmly to the point causing him pain. A smirk finds its way to my face. I bet he wasn't expecting that move.

"Are we done here?" I ask, still pressing down on the pressure point as hard as possible.

"Yes, yes, we are," he admits. "Just take your hands off my pressure point." I do as he says and roll off of him, onto the mat that covers the area. I can't wipe the indelible smile off my face. I just beat my dad at a sparring match. _I _beat the Batman. If I had been a criminal and he had a little more motivation to kick my ass, then I most likely would have lost, but that doesn't matter right now. This is my first win, and I'm going to celebrate it!

Dad gets up with me and places a hand on my shoulder. A small grin stretches across his lips.

"I'm proud of you," he confesses. I smile and thank him. I still love hearing him say that, even if I've heard it more often now that I'm doing well in training. The reason I love hearing it is because Dad does not throw these things around whenever he feels like it. He always means it. I have to earn his words of encouragement.

"I think we're ready for the last stage of your training," he says quietly. It's more to himself than me. Whatever this last stage is, he seems hesitant about it. I roll my eyes. Seriously? After the progress we've made, I can't believe he's reluctant to finally complete what we started together. I'm ready for whatever is thrown at me. Maybe that's the confidence I got from beating him in a fight for the first time in my life, but I don't care. I'm so hyped up on adrenaline that I think I can do anything. A week ago, I would never dream of being where I am now. What could be so terribly hard that Dad isn't sure about me doing it?

"What is the final step in training?" I ask eagerly. Dad looks at me, seeming conflicted. He releases a breath and smiles nervously as he tells me,

"It's fear-gassing you."

Oh…

That changes things a lot…

Being gassed with Crane's toxin was one of the worst experiences of my life. I thought I was dying at first as the harmful gas filled my lungs, until I realized that the reality was much worse. I was stuck in a never ending nightmare. Not only was I attacked by countless bugs – one of my biggest fears – but everything around me was so distorted. It's like… Well, the best way I can explain it is what happens when you start to die in certain videogames. Your vision gets blurry, especially at the edges, and everything goes in slow motion. You start seeing red. You hear everything much different than it actually is. But unlike videogames, you can't die and then press 'play again'. You're stuck in your worst nightmare. It's something I never thought I'd relive again.

It's something I never _want _to relive again.

"I won't force you to do it," Dad rushes to say. "This is your choice. But I will tell you that the effects of the original drug are far less potent than what Crane gassed you with. You are still able to function normally while under it, and the fear level isn't nearly as high."

I consider my options for a little while. The fear gas still sends shivers up my spine when I think of it. It really was terrifying. Going through it again? That just sounds crazy. It doesn't sound like something anyone would agree to. But, at the same time, this really isn't what I went through before. If the thing isn't as potent, then what am I scared of? I'm being a wimp! I should just do it and get it over with. I've come so far. Why not complete my training? It would prove to Dad how much I want this. Maybe I can even convince him to let me get my _own _suit…

I've come to a decision. The pros definitely outweigh the cons in this situation. This test is worth it if I can finish my training.

I nod my head, trying my best to remain firm. I'm shaking a bit on the inside. My nervousness is getting the better of me. It's taking control. But I have to force it down. Otherwise, it will spread throughout my whole body and lock me up. So, I just tell myself that everything will be perfectly okay. This is _Dad_, not Crane. He wouldn't do anything that would harm me.

"Very well," he concedes. "I thought you would agree to this." Well, he just knows me _too _well. I've never been one to back down from a challenge.

He walks to the opposite side of the room and pulls something out of an old trunk. We have a lot of equipment in here, so when I saw that trunk earlier, I thought nothing of it. I just thought it had some more equipment that we hadn't used yet. But when he takes out a blue plant in a wooden bowl, I realize that he anticipated this. He knew we'd reach this state in my training. Did he know we'd reach it so quickly?

In his other hand is a lighter. He strikes it up and places it near the plant, burning it but not quite catching the whole thing on fire. It burns slowly, letting the smoke rise from it slowly. He motions for me to come closer. I place my head over the plant, inhaling the fumes with my eyes closed. It doesn't smell that bad, actually. I seem totally normal. I don't know exactly when it's supposed to settle in, but I don't feel any different. I don't even feel the effects of it.

At first.

The more I breathe in, the more I feel what it does to my body and senses. I feel heavy like lead. My sharpened instincts feel dulled considerably. My mind goes fuzzy. I can't focus. What do I do now? Am I supposed to do anything? I can't think of my next move. And I can feel something filling my body. It spreads through my veins and makes me shake. Something very familiar to me. It's fear.

I look around me frantically and find that Dad isn't in front of me anymore. I look around to find him, but he isn't anywhere to be seen. With my vision impaired the way it is, I wouldn't be able to find him anyway. I take a shaky step forward towards the box that the plant itself came from. Something tells me I need to open it. I really don't want to. I want to run away from it. I want to run away from this room and bury myself in my bed until these effects wear off. But I keep on walking forward until I'm right in front of the old trunk, my hand placed on top of it.

Gathering up my quickly waning courage, I flip the top to the trunk open. What seems to be millions of bugs fly at me at lightening-speed. I stumble backwards, covering my face for protection. I can hear them buzzing in my ear and crawling on my skin. It's sickening. I wish I could scream, but my voice won't seem to work. All I can think of besides the crippling fear is to get away from the horde of insects attacking me. My body is going into fight or flight mode.

I stumble away from the bugs at last, nearly tripping as I run away. But I still don't feel safe. The fear has barely dissipated in my mind. A ball ramming straight into my head proves that I was correct to not assume I'm safe. I rub my sore head and growl a little in anger. This was a rubber ball instead of the usual foam one. And it hurts like hell. Of course, the moment when I'm at my weakest is when the level of ball is upgraded. Because that's _totally _fair. My anger forces my vision to realign a bit. It's not as fuzzy as it was before. The next ball coming towards me becomes clearer than the last, and I jump over to the left to avoid it. Another comes towards my head, and I duck down quick enough to miss it.

My blurry vision still betrays me, though. I don't have time to react when Dad comes at me, grabbing me and throwing me down on the mat. He jumps back on me and tackles me in an attempt to pin me. We roll over a few times as we fight. He's trying to get me to stay down. The fight or flight kicks in again. Determination builds in me as I decide I'm not letting myself lose. I can't afford to.

I bring my knee up and smash it into Dad's abdomen and then jab my elbow into his back once I'm at the angle to. His grip on me loosens, and it's enough for me to slip out. I dash towards the rack of weapons on the other side of the room, my vision still not exactly clear. My movements are wobbly. I'm trying to grip on to my focus and not let fear overtake me and swallow me whole into the abyss. But it's so hard. I have to learn how to shut fear down. Like Dad.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear! I should not have thought of Dad, because as soon as I do, I feel him tackle me from behind. I'm _so _close to the weapons rack that it's not even fair. He takes my wrists and holds them so I can't use my elbows again. I kick my legs furiously so he won't be able to hold down my ankles. He tries anyway. My sock covered feet make contact with his free hand as he tries to pin me down fully. If I freeze, I know I'll lose. My fear finally stops shutting me down. It makes me more determined. It makes me want to beat him. My fear is actually helping me for once.

Bringing my knees together, I push my body back. It rolls with me, and I do a summersault out of Dad's grip. He may be strong, but I'm agile like a gymnast. I'm able to get out of people's holds. My body lands right next to the weapon's rack, and I grab the first thing I can find. Lucky for me, it's a big freaking sword that I would normally steer clear of, but I'll make an exception in the name of winning. Before Dad can attack me again, I grip the sword tightly in my hands and extend it so he can see it clearly. It's pointed right at him.

"I wouldn't try it if I were you," I hiss. Through my haze, I can see Dad smirking. I know exactly what that smirk means.

I've passed my training.

* * *

Some time and a few glasses of water have effectively purged my body of the harmful toxin in my system. Now, I'm sitting in the kitchen with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and shoveling mocha java ice cream into my mouth. No celebration is complete without ice cream in my world. And this is certainly cause for celebration. I passed training! I am now a full-fledged badass.

At least I'd like to refer to myself as one.

Dad sits next to me, completely silent as I finish off my small portion of ice cream. I take the bowl and Dad's empty glass of water to the sink while tightening the blanket around me. I may be better, but I'm still oddly cold.

"Are you done?" Dad asks.

"Yeah," I respond. "Why?"

Dad suddenly gets up from his chair and grabs his car keys from the table. He looks at my grungy work out outfit and shakes his head.

"Go upstairs and change. We need to pay Mr. Fox a visit."

* * *

**A/N: Can any of you guess what the next chapter will consist of? If you can't, I am immensely disappointed in you. I pretty much spelled it out for you! It won't exactly go down the way you may think, but as soon as Fox was added into this, I think guessing became easy. Well, anyways, see you all later!**


	8. Chapter 8

***THIRD FRIKIN POSTING ATTEMPT* **

**A/N: The outfit you'll read about at the end of this chapter was put together by my best friend (once again), but the other one described in near the beginning of this story was MY creation. I tried to draw it, but failed miserably. I also could find almost none of the things I described online. The internet has failed me. So, I relied on imagination. This chapter is the one I've been waiting for since... Well, ever. Pretty much since I started to write the last story. I hope you like it!**

* * *

I look around in amazement at the basement of Wayne Enterprises. It's where everything Batman related is stored. Sure, I've been down here before, but only once or twice. I'm still dumbfounded by all the devices and equipment that this place holds. It's like candy land for people like Dad. Even for people like me. I'm mesmerized by all the fancy gadgets and advanced technology. How could I not be? They're so amazing.

And I probably sound like the world's biggest nerd right now. But that's because I probably am.

"Mr. Wayne," Fox calls happily as we approach. "I wasn't expecting you so soon." Dad called ahead? That must mean he knew I was going to complete training today. I completely underestimated the amount of faith he put in me. And here I was, thinking that he was anticipating my failure. Maybe I should have a little more faith in _him_.

"She finished faster than I expected," Dad replies. He seems like a proud parent. I never thought I'd hear him use that tone when speaking about me to others. He's the stoic, serious guy. The last person you'd expect to gush over his kid. But I guess everyone is guilty of it every once in a while. And I'm glad he is. It may blow my ego up a little bit, but come on. He's _Batman_. When he's proud of me, it's a pretty damn big deal.

"I should expect nothing less of you, Miss Genevieve," Fox says cheekily. I'm tempted to correct him by telling him to call me Vieve, but I'm a bit too preoccupied blushing like an idiot at his compliment. I really gotta stop listening to all these compliments before I turn into a pompous bitch. That's the last thing I need.

"If you two just follow me, I'll show you the finished product."

I turn my head to the side in curiosity. What finished product? Dad told me _nothing _about why we're here. Zip. Nada. I have no idea what this 'finished product' is. I wonder if Dad brought me here to see one of his newest gadgets or something like that. If so, I'm totally down for that. But a little part of me wishes for this to be for _me_.

Who am I fucking kidding?! A BIG part of me wants this to be for me!

A big, glass case like the one that holds Dad's bat-suit at home sits near some equipment tables. But I can't see in this glass. It frustrates me to no end. I just want to break the glass open and see what's inside. While I may be illogical, I'm not _that _illogical. I just have to wait patiently for Fox to open up the doors of the glass so I can see what's inside this hulking case.

"I worked on this day and night for a very long time," he says and he grips the handles. Excitement builds in me. So close!

"I think I've finally got it right," he says confidently. With that, he finally pulls open the doors and reveals his next masterpiece. I gasp in shock when I finally see the 'finished product'. I can't believe what I'm seeing. Is this some sort of trick? Or am I going insane? I must have gone insane.

It's a suit. Except it's nowhere near a bat-suit. It's orange in color, for the first difference. The top has an asymmetrical neckline and is covered by a deep red leather jacket. Very light orange tights cover the legs of the mannequin, and dark red combat bootssit below the outfit. A red utility belt rests around the hips of the costume. A red domino mask is placed above the outfit, staring at me. The entire thing is beautiful.

And exactly my size.

I turn to Fox and Dad in confusion, not knowing what to make of this. At first, I was sure Dad would never let me near a costume like his. Now he's practically handing one over to me, and I have no idea what to make of it. It's completely out of character for him. Usually, he tries to protect me like I'm a child, and I have to remind him that I'm sixteen and perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I'm worried that this is some sort of screwed up test where I'm going to have to refuse the suit. If that happened, I may murder Dad for doing that to me.

Maybe he finally realized that this is what I want. I want it more than anything. But the fact that he's just thrusting this at me like he was always so okay with my involvement in anything Batman related makes me vaguely suspicious. I don't really want to question it, though. Not when this _awesome _suit is at stake. I want it so bad it hurts.

"Why…?" I start, looking at Dad in confusion. He smiles at me and places a hand on my shoulder.

"You're like me in a lot of ways, you know?" he begins. Of course I know I'm a lot like him, – which isn't always necessarily a good thing – but I don't see where this is going.

"When my parents died, all I could think about it justice. I wanted their killer caught. I wanted him dead. I would have done anything to accomplish that. But when he was killed himself, I realized it made me feel no better. There were still people like him in the world. There were still people willing to kill and steal and lie and do terrible things. People were losing parents like I lost mine. And here I was, not able to get over my parent's deaths. That's part of the reason I became Batman. It helped me cope with losing them. I was able to do something. But when Juliet died…"

I brace myself. We're wandering into uncharted territory, and I'm not sure how I feel about this conversation. Especially not in front of Fox. It feels like it should be private. It's a father-daughter conversation, and a big one at that.

"I know you never got justice for your mother," he continues. "Her killer killed himself so he would never have to face it. He never got a punishment for what he did. He got exactly what he wanted and that left you with no peace. Things like this happen much too often. And I know that it kills you. You hate knowing that there are people like your step-father who are out there breaking up more families and you can't do anything to combat it. You never got your justice. I don't want you to be the way I was for years after my parents died; dark, brooding, angry, consumed with the idea of revenge. I want you to be able to get the justice you deserve. That's why I'm giving you this suit. I'm giving it to you because I know you need it just like I needed mine."

I feel like he's trusting me with something huge. It's like the moment I found out he was Batman. He's trusting me with something this major. He's giving me this suit with the faith that I won't mess up or do something completely irresponsible with it. Knowing me, there's a million mistakes I could make. What can I say? I'm still a stupid kid. He's putting more trust in me now than he ever has before. And I won't let him down. I never want to disappoint my dad, but especially not when I'm being trusted with something so big. I'll prove him right. He was right to trust me.

"I won't let you down," I promise. He nods, like he already knows that. Fox takes this moment as his opportunity to step in and talk to me about the magnificent suit I'll wear.

"You're quick and agile, so I didn't want you in something as bulky as what your father wears," he explains. "The fabric of the suit itself is fire resistant, and the leather jacket? Feel for yourself."

I reach out and touch the dark red leather jacket over top of the suit and find that it's not flimsy like a regular one. It feels like there is padding of some sort underneath.

"There's a built in bullet proof vest underneath, but not one too obvious or one that will slow you down. And the shoes are just for comfort. Your father told me how much you love combat boots."

I really do love combat boots. And I love these. They're fantastic. The whole ensemble is. I feel like I'm going to get emotional right here and now. Over an _outfit_. Does that make me sound too girly? I tell the excited little kid in me to calm the hell down and turn stoic for the two adults in front of me.

"Let's just clear some things up first," Dad begins. "You are not my sidekick. I do my own work, while you patrol when you wish. I will not interfere in your business unless it becomes urgent and you are not involved in mine unless I ask for your help. Are we clear?" I nod my head excitedly. That's even better! I'm my own person, not a lowly sidekick living in the shadow of the Batman.

"Your first test is tonight," Dad continues. I tilt my head. Test? I thought I was done with training and tests.

"What would that be?" I ask. Dad gathers up my new suit from the case and throws it at me, which I catch swiftly.

"Tonight is your first patrol."

* * *

I feel powerful. I feel strong. I feel _invincible._

Tonight is my first night in the suit. When I put it on, I found that it wasn't exactly the most comfortable thing in the world, but it also fit me very well. It felt like I was made to wear this suit, as crazy as that sounds. Technically this suit _was _made for me, but I felt something much more. It was as if I've been waiting for this moment my entire life. Putting on the suit made me feel complete. In that moment, I swear, anything felt possible.

That sounds like a really lame line from a cheesy romance movie, doesn't it? Well, I don't care.

I tied my hair back into a ponytail, mostly because no one ever really sees me in one. People might be able to recognize me if my hair was down or in a bun, so I decided to go for the look I wear the least. I'd say I'm now nearly unrecognizable. It's a good thing, too. If someone found out who I am, they could easily trace Batman back to Dad, then I would have ruined everything. I even spent some time perfecting a more raspy, different voice. It ended sounding close to Jennifer Lawrence's voice, but at least it doesn't sound like mine.

Dad and I set out in the Tumbler together, a layer of silence covering us. He's in his Batman mode now. He's no longer Dad. In my mind, they are two separate beings. And Batman is even more silent than Dad ever is.

I'm not Batman's sidekick, but he's still my ride to go on patrol. Considering I was unconscious the last time I was in the Tumbler, you can imagine my wonder as I gaze at all the controls the lined the thing. The child in me is tempted to press a random button to see what it does. Knowing my luck, it would probably be the eject button. Or I would get the lecture of my life for even daring to press _anything _in the Tumbler. So I leave all the buttons alone for now. I haven't gotten my driver's license yet, you know. I'll have to get Dad to teach me using this monster of a car…

"Time to get out," Batman mumbles. The car is parked in a pretty remote area of the Narrows that he used quite a few back entrances and short cuts to get to. I'm almost bursting with excitement. The Narrows; it's a good place to start. After all, it's where most crimes in Gotham happen. I exit the car and stand in the dark alley, feeling confidence surge through me. I'm out in public with my suit. The worst has passed. Now I just have to get down to business.

"Be careful," I warn Batman. He gives me a nod.

"You too." With that, he's gone into the night. I have no idea where he's going. And right now, it's not really any of my concern. My only concern right now is _my _job. Now this area is my turf to explore and see if there's anything I can possibly do to help people in need. First thing's first; I need to survey the area. I take the grappling hook from my utility belt and shoot it out towards a medium sized building, scaling the side. The roof will be the perfect place to survey the ground from. I'll be able to see all that goes on down below.

My combat boots crunch some leaves as I walk along the edge of the roof, looking out to the streets below. There's not much going on. All I see is a woman walking underneath the streetlight with her purse clutched to her side tightly. I roll my eyes. She should really not be out here at this time. I learned that the hard way when I was interning at Arkham and nearly got mugged. I fought the guy off. She, on the other hand… she doesn't look like she'd be able to fight off a poodle. Any person, especially a woman, who walks alone at night practically has a sign above them that declares 'hey, I'm an easy target!' I highly doubt she thought ahead and packed pepper spray or any other thing to defend herself.

Sure enough, a man with a ski mask jumps out of an alley that she walks by, holding a gun in his hand. The woman screams, but her mugger places a hand over her mouth and demands that she give him her purse. I scowl. I remember when _I _almost lost my purse to muggers. A white hot anger flashes through me, and I use my grappling hook to attach to a building across the street. I grab onto the cord and start to swing down like a zip line. My boots are out and extended downwards, making contact with the mugger's face. He goes back in pain and shock, and I let go of the zip line to drop down in front of him.

"Didn't your mommy ever tell you not to steal?" I ask mockingly. He raises his gun to my head in anger, but I duck deftly and swipe his legs out from under him. He falls down onto the concrete with a groan and the gun drops down next to him. I pick it up and hand it to the bewildered woman.

"He's near unconsciousness," I tell her. "Just hold this and call the cops. You should be fine." I start to walk away, confident in my work. I take ahold of my grappling hook, bring it back to its original position, and tuck it into my belt.

"Wait!" the woman yells. I wheel around on the heels of my boots to face her. She seems confused, slightly scared, yet grateful.

"Who are you?" she asks. Ah, the question I've been waiting for! This could be my big moment. Like Dad had when someone asked him who he was and he answered 'I'm Batman.' This is my opportunity to give myself a kickass name that will forever be burned into the brains of all the Gothamites. Forever.

I open my mouth with the objective to name myself something amazing.

"Just someone who wanted to help," I get out. I feel like smacking myself. Seriously? Seriously?! I had a golden opportunity to cement my place in Gotham the way my Dad did by giving myself a name. Once you have a name, they can't forget you. You become a part of their history. Now I guess I'll have to wait and see what unflattering name the Gotham Times gives me tomorrow when this lady tells the police what she saw. I can't wait to see who I'm going to be from now on.

I wander around the Narrows, keeping as quiet as possible as I stay on the lookout for any suspicious activity. I check in a few alleyways, just to make sure no one is lurking in them. So far, everything is clear. Usually the Narrows would be crawling with people making drug deals or someone waiting in the alleyway for an unsuspecting victim. It's strangely silent tonight. I can't help but think of two reasons why that might be. Batman _and _the Joker.

"Why hello, Red!"

I jump and turn around. Speak of the devil…

The Joker stands before me in his usual get-up, looking at me with a sadistic smile on his face. I scowl at him. I've been wanting a crack at the psychopath ever since he hurled me from a window and nearly killed me. I don't care about drug dealers or muggers or any other common criminal that lurks the streets. He's the one that needs to be taken off the street for the good of human kind.

"What've you been doing lately? Blowing up a children's hospital?" I ask sarcastically. He looks up like he's thinking and eventually shrugs.

"Not yet, but I like the way you think, Red."

Does he recognize me? I'm not sure if that's why he's calling me 'Red', or if he's doing it because of my suit. I'm praying it's the suit and nothing else.

"Do you know I could take you down right here, right now?" I ask mockingly. My tone makes me sound stuck up and arrogant as hell, but it's the _Joker _I'm talking to. I don't care how I sound. I have the strongest urge to beat his ass right here, right now. But Dad taught me self-control. I don't run into battle with the mentality of act now, ask questions later. I want to take him down the right way.

He nods a little quickly. It looks like a tic of his. I've noticed a few of those.

"But you won't," he corrects me. He really thinks I'm going to let him go? Why would anyone do that?! I would love to take in the Joker and be the one to bring an end to his reign of terror. But I know it's not going to be that easy. Or else he wouldn't have approached me like this. He has some tricks up his sleeves.

He looks behind me, like he sees a bug on my shoulder.

"Oh, nobody is behind you," he mentions. What the hell? I turn my head slightly, only to be sucker punched by someone. I nearly go down, but somehow manage to stay upright. That was a fucking hard punch! In retaliation, I elbow the person in the abdomen. I make progress, but my elbow is caught and used to throw my body down on the ground. Another body falls on top of me afterward. I release a breath and use my free hand to deliver a right hook to the person's face that knocks him or her off balance. I wish it was light enough for me to see whether or not this person is a him or her.

I slide out from under them and kick their ribs once I'm standing upright. It only takes whoever this is a few seconds to recover from my kick. Soon, we're toe to toe again, about to get into another brawl.

"Enough!" Joker demands. The person I'm fighting with is suddenly at ease, crossing their arms across their chest. Now that we're not rolling around on the gravel fighting, I finally get a good look at the girl in front of me. Ventriloquist makeup covers her face, making her look nothing like the normal person I bet she once was. Her hair is a wild mane of dull sandy blonde that looks like it's been dyed quite a few times and lost its original look. Probably for disguise purposes. Her irises are black. They're so black that I theorize they must be colored contacts. That can't be her real eyes. They hold a dull twinkle in them. She's stoic, obeying the word of her boss. But there is a certain craziness behind her eyes, like chaos rules her life and following the Joker is how she expresses it. She doesn't speak one word, focusing solely on the Joker.

Over a white dress shirt, she wears red suspenders, which hold up a skirt of the same color. A black bow tie sits around her neck, and dark, ripped up tights cover her legs. They lead down to dark combat boots.

I think I've just met the Joker's sidekick.

"Why did you tell her to stop?" I question him. He could have ended me if he wanted to. It was two against one, and I know he carries knives on him. He laughs that demonic laugh that is still in my brain from that horrible video.

"What fun would that be? I like you, Red. You're going to be a part of my game. You can't be dead. At least not yet. We'll see what happens later, shall we?"

He gives the girl a head nod. It must be a code between the two, because the next thing I know, I've been punched in the face harder than the last time. This time, I do go down. Hard. My head hits the gravel, and it hurts like hell. But I manage to pick myself up again. I'm ready to fight them. I'm ready to take the girl in. I'm ready to end this already.

But they're already gone.

* * *

**A/N:** **I really hope you all have a good imagination on you and can see Vieve's outfit in your head. If not, blame the internet. It failed me. As for the Joker's sidekick (AKA Nobody), I curse Kate for being able to put it together. Why must she be so lucky with the internet? Also, I know some people might be scratching their heads and wondering why Batman would suddenly be okay with her crime-fighting. All I have to say: his reasons for letting Dick Grayson become Robin. 'Nuff said.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So my county is being stupid and closing school nearly every day this week, so I have a LOT of time to write. And procrastinate on my geometry homework. YAH! Well, I have a lot of time to write when I'm not having extreme writer's block. I was literally staring at my laptop aimlessly yesterday, unable to get inspired enough to write ANYTHING. But I finally got inspired today. I'm super excited to write the next chapter especially, so watch out for that. Enjoy, my dearest readers!**

* * *

Funerals may be depressing as hell, which I'm sure many people will agree with, but there is one benefit when someone important dies in Gotham City; a day off. There's no school today due to the death of the commissioner, so I'm free to do whatever I wish. My only wish is sleep. I was up late last night patrolling Gotham. I busted a drug deal, stopped an attempted robbery, and even put an end to an attempted murder. It was an exhausting night. As soon as I got home, I collapsed into bed and fell dead asleep. Usually, Dad wakes me in the morning for a work out to keep me in shape. Recently, however, he hasn't ventured into my room in the morning in fear that I'll throw my alarm clock at his head…

Again.

At 1:00 in the afternoon, I finally manage to drag my lazy sack of a body out of bed, throw a blanket over my shoulders, and trudge to the kitchen with my long hair askew. I can sleep until 3:00, but Dad doesn't seem to like that, so I'm trying to get out of the habit. Still, there are those days where I just think 'screw it' and sleep as late as I wish. Today isn't one of those days.

Dad sits, fully dressed and awake at the table. He's not in business clothes. He's in normal clothing, and if I know him as well as I think I do, his body language suggests he's deep in thought about something. He most likely just came from the cave. I smile at how easy I'm able to read him. This is what happens when you're the child of the world's greatest detective.

The newspaper is in front of him, and the picture on it surprises me. It's of me, in my suit, swinging from a building on my grappling hook. Someone managed to snap a lucky picture. Word has probably gotten around about me by now. It's been a few days since my first outing in costume. Approaching Dad without one word, I take the paper from the counter and start to read.

_Masked Vigilante Strikes Again!_ The headline screams.

_Masked vigilante? _I'm almost offended by the unflattering title, until I remember that is what I really am. I'm a masked vigilante just like Dad. I might as well own it. I continue on, seeing what the article has to say about me.

_Friday night was the first sighting citizens got of the mysterious young girl in a flame-colored costume who swung from the buildings of Gotham. The girl reportedly stopped an attempted mugging and told the victim that she was 'just someone who wanted to help'._

There's no 'reportedly' about it. I'm still embarrassed over my blunder in naming myself, though. Someone who wants to help? That better not become my alias. If it does, I swear that I will bribe the papers to rename me something cool.

_Since that night, there have been up to 6 reported sightings of this young girl throughout Gotham. Many have claimed that she is of no harm and helps our city stay safe. The Gotham City PD, however, heavily disagrees in a statement released to the public._

I nearly laugh. The Gotham City PD? What're _they _gonna do about it? It's sad when a sixteen year old girl is more help than people whose actual jobs are to stop crime. They hate Batman, and they hate me now too. Too bad. I'm not going away anytime soon, so they better man-up and get used to it. I skim over a statement from the Gotham City PD, promising to help apprehend me as soon as possible. I shake my head in laughter. Good luck with that, officers. I'm about to make your jobs absolute hell and enjoy every minute of it.

_Her flame colored clothing and auburn hair have branded her with the moniker 'Blaze' among the victims who report sightings of her to the police._

I put the newspaper down. So, my name is 'Blaze'? I turn it around in my brain, taking it apart. I didn't choose this name myself, but something about it sticks with me. I like it. It reminds me of fire, something I'm excited to be associated with. It's powerful, but at the same time, something that sustains life. It can hurt you, but at the same time, it can keep you alive. It's a perfect metaphor for what I do now. I have the power to harm and help.

God, when did I get so freaking deep?

"So, _Blaze_," Dad mocks playfully. "Did you sleep well?" I nod and wipe at my bleary eyes. Alfred comes into the room and hands me a small bowl of pasta for lunch. Yes, I'm eating lunch instead of breakfast. It's 1:00, after all.

"Yep, for once," I say while digging into my pasta. Sleep is one of my favorite things in the world, but I can survive off of small amounts of it. To me, there are only two good amounts of sleep; 10 hours or 3-0 hours. When I get 10 hours, I'm well rested and ready for the day. When I get 3 or less, all the energy in my body gathers together to give me an energy boost for the day until I finally crash right before it's time for me to go to bed. The human body is weird that way.

"Got any business to take care of?" I ask Dad. He stiffens in his seat. That's enough for me to get  
my answer. He's got business alright, but it's not business for Wayne Enterprises. This is _Batman _business. Now the only question is whether or not he'll be telling me about it. Dad looks back up at me oddly, like he's examining me. It's like he's trying to figure out what to do with me. I stare back at him just as curiously. I wish he would speak, because now I'm feeling a bit on edge. It's like he's staring right through me. He may be my dad, but he still has the ability to make anyone feel uneasy, even me.

"I do, and you're going to come with me."

Hold up just one damn second. Do _I _have a say in this?

"What exactly are we doing?" I ask cautiously. Dad gets up from the table without a word and grabs his jacket, then the keys for his motorcycle. My eyes widen. I've never been on his motorcycle before…

"You'll see," he says, grabbing my hand. I try to protest so I can get some more information out of him, but he just pulls me along towards the door. He ignores all my attempts to get him to slow down and stop pulling me like I'm a rag doll. I grab a pair of boots, assuming my sweat pants and tee shirt will be enough. But how the hell would I know? Just because I'm now involved in the same vigilante business does not mean I appreciate him dragging me off to god knows where with no explanation given at all. I hate not knowing what's going on. It frustrates me being the one person out of the loop.

He hands me the extra helmet to the bike while climbing on himself. By now, I know I'm not getting any information out of the stubborn idiot I call my father, so I simply put the helmet on and get on the bike after him, slinging my arms around his waist to hold on. Motorcycles have always been death traps in my mind. I never thought I'd willingly hop on one like it's no big deal. But, I guess I've done worse by now. Riding on one these things is no biggie anymore. Nothing at all. Easy. At least, that's what I try to tell myself when the engine starts up and I feel my stomach start preforming summersaults. Because this is just a _wonderful _time to get nervous.

I guess being Blaze doesn't conquer all my nerves after all. I'm still just a human.

"Hold on," Dad warns. I hold on a little bit too tightly as we peel out of the driveway as high speeds. Wherever the hell we're going, we're getting there fast. If there's one thing I know about Dad, it's that even if he fights all sorts of crime, he doesn't really like to follow speed limits that much. Go figure.

* * *

This warehouse we're in gives me the creeps. I should not be in here. Dad dragged me in here, despite my thoughts that it was a bad idea. This is the type of place that those stupid blondes in horror movies decide to explore before being brutally mutilated or something just as unpleasant. I feel like an axe murderer is going to pop out at any second. But I keep my thoughts to myself. I wouldn't want Dad to think I'm a sissy. So I go along with it as we explore the place. We enter a room cautiously, prepared to face anything inside. All we see are men tied to a pole in their underwear, duct tape slapped over their mouths. It's a shocking and slightly disturbing sight, but at least they aren't dead. I give Dad the signal that I'll take care of this, and he nods and rushes over to the window where a telescope is placed.

I lean in front of one of the poor men and see how terrified he really is. He's shaking like a leaf and sweating profusely. I can tell he hears us, but he's too scared to make a move. Whoever got them really did a number on them. I reach out and tear the duct tape off his mouth quickly. He jumps at the action, no doubt thinking whoever did this to him has returned. The tape must have hurt too. I cringe, hoping it didn't sting too much.

"Who's there?" he asks shakily and nervously. I don't respond to his question.

"What happened?" I ask in my disguised voice. He pants and shakes even more.

"They took our guns… and our u-uniforms," he chokes out. Dad, or 'Batman', would probably be calm and distant in this situation, moving on with his line of questioning or just moving on in general, but I can't help but feel immense sympathy for the poor man. If I were him, I'd be pissing my pants. Well, maybe that's exaggerating a bit, but I still feel for him.

"Hear that?" I call to Dad. He nods, preoccupied at the moment. I turn my attention back to the man, who still looks on the verge of a breakdown by now. The urge to reassure him floods me, and I search for something more to say.

"Don't worry," I tell him as soothingly as possible. "You'll be fine. We're going to get you out of here, okay?" He nods shakily. I smile, even if he can't see. I credit Mom for my natural ability to be nurturing and comforting.

The sound of a timer going off rings in my ears, followed by the sound of gun shots. They're nearly deafening and dangerously close. I automatically duck my head and throw my body to the ground. It's my knee jerk reaction, and apparently Dad's too. He comes tumbling after me.

"What the fuck is happening?" I hiss to Dad. He gives me a reproving glance for my coarse language. I roll my eyes. Even in these situations, he has to be the parent and remind me not to curse in front of him. What can I say? I curse when I'm stressed, scared, or angry. Right now, I'm a mixture of the three. Who the hell could be shooting at us? I think I already know the answer to that question as soon as I ask. Who else but the people who stole these men's uniforms. And the people who stole the uniforms are no doubt tied to the Joker somehow. He's the only person causing chaos in Gotham right now. At least, on this massive scale. He's the only one who would want the people here dead. And someone important is delivering the eulogy here.

It hits me like a ton of bricks. The mayor is next. Those bastards are taking him down next, just like they're doing to everyone else important in this city.

"_Mac soith…_" I whisper underneath my breath in astonishment. Dad looks at me incredulously.

"I understand Irish too, remember?" he says in exasperation. I give him an angry look at point back to the window.

"They are going to shoot the mayor!" I exclaim in a hushed tone. Dad looks back to where I'm pointing with a torn expression on his face. Both of us know we can't do anything to save him now. Not when there are maniacs with guns down below. Swooping in wearing our full suits while there are men at the ready to shoot any interference? No thank you! But it still feels so utterly _wrong _to not try. Isn't that what we're supposed to do? Help people?

I can hear the chanting below of a 'soldier' giving instruction. I listen and anticipate the chaos that is sure to come soon. Then, I hear it.

Gunshots. Screams of terror.

Dad tries to keep me on the ground, but it's a half-hearted attempt. I break free and dash to the window and look out. A group has crowded around the podium. People are on their cellphones, no doubt calling 9-1-1. The crowd disperses a little bit, and I'm able finally see what's going on. The mayor is standing up, unharmed. But the danger has not passed. He's hunched over a figure that lays motionless on the ground. I look closer at the figure, trying to make out who it is. Someone turns him over on his back, revealing his face to me. I slap a hand over my mouth in shock.

Gordon!

"Oh my god!" I exclaim in horror. Officer Gordon is limp on the ground, his eyes shut, his mouth open slightly, and a bullet no doubt lodged somewhere in his body. He's the only good, clean, honest cop we seem to have in this city. He was one of the few men in Gotham who could not be bullied into straying into the world of bribes and corruption. More importantly, he was the only officer who recognized the importance of Batman. And now here he is, dying on the concrete like he's a piece of trash on the side of the road. I've spoken to him very impersonally just a few times, but it was always easy to tell that he was a good man. Men like him are few and far between nowadays. We can't lose him. Then there will be no one to rely on here.

I don't know when Dad joined me at the window, but now he stands near me, watching what is going on below with the same morbid fascination as me. We watch, glued to our places as an ambulance pulls up and a stretcher is pulled out of it. Some people help him onto the stretcher while police officers sprint to catch the shooters. It's a madhouse down there. Chaos rules the street, with people scrambling for cover in fear of being next or just trying to get away from the scene. Police officers are holding some people back. I'm sure the Joker is loving the chaos he's caused. The bastard…

Dad grabs my arm and starts to pull me away from the window. On instinct, I protest.

"But Gordon…" I start to say.

"That's not our concern right now," Dad informs me. No matter how much I want to break away from him and rush to save Gordon, I know there's nothing I can do.

Because there's a good chance he's dead already.

* * *

I sneak into the abandoned warehouse, my suit securely on my body and my utility belt hanging from my hips. I clutch my leather jacket closer to me, shivering when I remember all that's happened today. Gordon's dead. It's official. The bullet that was meant for the mayor killed him. Something in me sunk when I found out the news. Gordon represented a good, clean part of Gotham that died with him. I love Gotham and know it's not beyond saving, but I'm also not stupid enough to ignore the fact that we're falling into the abyss of chaos and evil, slowly teetering off the edge of madness. And it won't stop until the Joker is stopped.

Dad sent me here as an opportunity to gain experience. Besides, Dad's a little too busy thinking to be bothered with this. So he dumped me with the job. Not that I'm complaining. Especially when this involves stopping Harvey Dent from possibly committing a very badly thought out murder. He's a good man, I know he is, but he's cracking under pressure. And he's going to take it out on a mental patient. It's my job to make sure that doesn't happen.

I make it just in time to see Harvey tossing a coin up in the air in front of the mental patient strapped down to a chair. A gun's in his hand. It strikes me that he's flipping a coin to see if this man lives. How wrong is that? I've never heard of something so twisted. I get up behind him while he's distracted and knock the coin out of the air. He whips around to face me as the sound of the coin rolling away echoes throughout the building. Something tells me that he wouldn't have that look of surprise on his face if he was seeing Batman instead of Blaze. I guess I'm a poor substitute.

"Going after mental patients now, Dent?" I ask scathingly. I know he had no idea that this man was in fact a patient at Arkham, but it still bothers me that he's trying to question him in such a manner.

"He's a paranoid schizophrenic from Arkham Asylum. You know, an easy mind for the Joker to manipulate. You won't get anything out of him besides nonsensical ravings. I suggest you put the gun down."

Harvey lowers his gun finally, but he still looks pissed. And I don't blame him at all. Gordon is dead and he probably wants to track down all the sons of bitches responsible. But he's going to go off the deep end this way. Harvey Dent is a good man, but he harbors a lot of anger. I'm excellent at reading people. I can read Harvey like a preschool book. He teeters on the edge with anger and a low self-esteem. Someone needs to keep him grounded, or he'll blow.

Not to say I don't like the man, though. But no one human being is good or bad. Rather, we're all a mixture of the two. Some of us just let one outweigh the other.

"Why are you here?" he asks, ignoring what I said before. "Where's Batman?" I pace around him, going to stand in the back of him. I give him a look over and remember the message Dad told me to deliver to him. We argued over it fiercely, but I eventually agreed to pass on the news. I have a feeling Harvey will be about as thrilled as I was when I found out.

"This ends soon," I tell Harvey. "Batman is ready to turn himself in and end the madness. You, on the other hand, need to stay upright and clean. Understand? You're Gotham's white knight. You represent everything good and pure in this city. It's something that Batman and I could _never _be. Do something like this again and everyone will lose faith in both you and this city. The Joker will win. Don't let him."

I begin to walk away without looking back. There's no reason anymore. There will be no more Batman come tomorrow. I'll be left to fend for myself. Protecting Gotham during the night will be my responsibility and my responsibility alone.

"You two can't give in!" he calls at me angrily. I refuse to turn back to him. "YOU CAN'T GIVE IN!"

I shove my fist into my open palm as I walk away. Those were my exact thoughts when Dad told me his plan. Lucky for me, Harvey doesn't follow me out of the building. Walking in the dark alleys outside the building, I feel the overwhelming urge to punch something. The anger is building inside me. Dad is going to turn himself in! How could he? He's Gotham's protector, one of the few we have. And he's giving in to the Joker's demands. He's leaving people like Harvey and I alone to clean up the messes.

Then there's the selfish child in me who resents Dad for his inevitable exit. He'll be in jail, and I'll be alone yet again. I'm a teenage girl who needs a parent in her life, and soon all I'll have is Alfred and an empty mansion.

I'm pissed off and willing to do anything to let my anger out. With determination flowing through me, I set out into the night.

I'm going to find the Joker's sidekick, and I'll be damned if I go home without some answers.

* * *

**A/N: Before you ask; no, I will not tell you what she said in Irish. You have google translate. Use it! Or take an educated guess. So tell me what you thought of this chapter or chew me out for not telling me the translation. Just say SOMETHING. I will see you lovelies later (I'm in a good mood tonight; be grateful), goodbye!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: So it's really, really late, but I had to update. I just had to, okay? I poured a lot of emotion into this chapter, gosh dangit, and you WILL appreciate it. Now read and enjoy.**

* * *

Dad is definitely going to kill me for this. He's going to plan out my harsh punishment as soon as he realizes I didn't come home like I was told to. He's going to insert a GPS tracking device in my skin so he can keep track of me from his prison cell. But that's exactly why I don't care. Dad will be going to jail as soon as he reveals to the world that he's Batman. And that pisses me off majorly. It only fuels my resolve to find the Joker's sidekick. I want to know the Joker's master plan. I want to know where he's going to hit us next. He sure as hell isn't going to give me anything, so she's my only hope. I need the advantage if I'm going to survive without Batman here. Things are going to get bad, and I need to stop them from getting even worse. Because Dad won't be a big help behind bars, now will he?

I stalk around the alley way in the Narrows, keeping one hand hovering over my utility belt. I wish there was some way to draw this chick in, but I have no idea where she is. There's no way to just call her here. I have lurk around, see if she's hiding in any shadows. She certainly _looked _the type to hang around in shadows. I was almost scared of her from the way she looked…

But only almost.

Now, where the hell would she be? Do I have to scour every inch of this city? Because I'll do that if I have to. It's not like I have anything better to do. What am I supposed to do? Go home and face the fact that Dad will be gone soon? No thank you. I'd much rather beat someone up. That sounds like a nice way to get my aggression out. Right now, it's really tempting to just hit the brick wall as hard as possible, but I hold back. Wouldn't want to injure myself too badly before I even get down to business.

Creeping in and out of the shadows, I try to stay focused and catch sight of something. Anything. I stay as silent as humanly possible. Now I'm just lurking like some sort of creep in a costume. Nothing catches my eye at the moment. At least, nothing worth noticing. There's a cat skittering about in the alleyway across from me, along with a drunk man slumped against a lamppost muttering something completely unintelligible. You know, typical Narrows stuff. A cat comes along and skirts across my feet, and I jump back a little in surprise. I've always been more of a dog person anyways.

A shadow quickly catches my eye, and I spin around. It moves out of sight as quickly as it came. I nearly miss it, but not quite. My eyes narrow. I swear, I saw something pass by in the alley way next to me. I will not be convinced otherwise. I squeeze my body further against the brick of the building I'm next to. My body is now covered by the shadows the building casts. I can't be seen, and I plan to keep it that way. I have the eerie feeling that there's something watching me. It's unshakable. I walk along the shadows in an attempt to reach the alley. When I can feel where the brick ends, I turn to look in the dead end. My hand grabs my utility belt in preparation to face off with something, anything.

Nothing's here.

Well, that was a giant freaking disappointment. I swear, I saw _something_. Maybe it moved? It has to be somewhere else. It went in the alley, I swear! I am _not _going crazy.

More movement catches my eye. This time, it's in the alleyway across the street. I scowl deeply. Someone is trying to drive me insane. Bad move on their part. I just might stab them. Before I can think about it anymore, I take off across the street. I won't let whoever this is get away again. The drunk man slumped against the lamppost gets sort of rowdy at the sight of me. He's getting a little too…_ handsy_ for my tastes. I brush him off when get sloppily grabs onto my tights. He must be completely wasted if he got excited by the sight of _me_.

I curse myself for getting distracted by the man. Whoever came in my line of vision could have gotten away by now. I brush past the unruly drunk and run into the alley. My feet hit another cat that promptly hisses at me and scurries off in the opposite direction. I huff in disappointment and anger. Yet again, no one is in the alley. Am I just seeing things now? I walk up to the dead end wall, putting my head against the cool. I guess this whole mission is just a bust. I exhale. Going home and seeing the disappointment in Dad's eyes will be punishment enough. I am _not _looking forward to that moment. Maybe I'll just chill in this alley until the very last second. I don't feel like going home right now.

"Looking for someone, sweet cheeks?"

The voice stuns me out of my reverie. My back slams against the brick as I turn around. The voice was all too familiar to me. How could it not be? The Joker stands close to me, grinning as usual. How the hell did he sneak up to me without me noticing? I must have been too deep into my pity party to notice his footfalls. I reach for my utility belt, but he laughs when he sees what I'm doing.

"I wouldn't try that, Red," he warns. Out from behind him steps that sidekick of his that I was searching for. I growl a little in anger. She shows up _now? _Just great. She stares at me in interest. I search her eyes and find that they're the same as they were when we met before; dull, like she's jaded beyond her years, but still holding violence and chaos in them. I glare at her angrily. Does she ever step away from him for anything other than attacking people at his command? Doesn't she have her own free will? He must have brainwashed her worse than I thought. She's totally devoted to him. There goes any hope of getting information out of her.

"What do you want?" I hiss. The Joker laughs yet again. My blood boils at the sound. I have yet to make _one _freaking joke, but he has laughed at everything I've said and done. I didn't know I was such a freaking comedian. I don't understand the man in the least. No one does. Nothing has ever bugged me so much in my life. What does he hope to achieve? We'll never know.

"Oh, it's not about what _I _want, Red," he shoots back with an amused grin. "This is about _you_. I know who you really are."

My entire body freezes. Chills go up my spine. My identity is compromised. I have no idea how to react to his words. Do I attempt to deny it? Do I dare him to prove it and pray he's just bluffing? I have no idea. He thrust this bombshell on me, and I have no idea how in the world to react. This could be the end of everything. If word got out who I am, what other logical conclusion can people draw but that Dad is Batman?

Oh wait. I forgot. Dad's going to tell the world himself tomorrow.

The tension in my shoulders eases up. I'm not too scared anymore. What comes will come, right? Of course I don't want anybody knowing my identity, but at least I won't be putting Dad at risk by being found out. That was my original fear. I cross my arms over my chest and do my best to look completely indifferent to him. My inner panic can't show. I must suppress it.

"What about it?" I ask. The Joker looks at his sidekick with a wicked grin. She looks up at him dully, waiting for his next move. This girl is completely devoted to this maniac. What caused her to be this way? I wouldn't go near the Joker with a ten foot pole. But she's doing this all of her own free will. The Joker snaps his fingers, and the girl grins back at him. Then she turns to me, the grin still on her face. I stare back at her. Something about her haunts me. I'm not sure what. Maybe it's the grin. Maybe it's the look in her dull green-blue eyes.

But I don't have time to contemplate that before she jumps on me.

I fall to the ground, her on top of me. She's a tall chick, and not the lanky tall either. She's much bigger than me. Her hands find their way to my throat while she sits on my torso. I gasp for air a little bit when she squeezes. Reaching up quickly, I grab her wild mane of hair and pull as hard as possible on it. Her head goes flying back, and she hisses in pain. I smirk at her. She should have cut her damn hair. There's way too much of it. Using my other hand, I punch her across the face. She rolls over next to me, and I jump on her. Now _my _legs are on her torso. And she does not seem too terribly happy about that fact. Fire builds behind her eyes and she reaches up and grabs my leather jacket.

Crap.

She pulls me to the left, and my head hits the brick wall. The throbbing pain spreads through my skull, making my ears ring. That's gonna leave a bump in the morning. In retaliation, I reach down and punch her across the face. My hand ends up staying there as she bangs me against the wall again. God, that fucking hurts! All I can do is basically rub my hand across her face as I try to gain enough control over this fight to punch her again. I pull in the opposite direction with all my might when she tries to ram me into the wall again. I look down at her face, fully intending to punch her again with all my might. But I stop short, my hand retracting from her face.

Her makeup is smeared onto my hand, a big collection of messy white and black that gets into the cracks of my palm, making it look like the Joker's face does. Her own face is now more visible with the pesky makeup not hiding her features. I can see her actual skin. It matches perfectly with her hair. Well, it would if her hair was slightly sandier in color. I imagine that for a second. And her hair less wild. It looks naturally frizzy. Still big, but it could look better brushed and cut. I've only ever seen hair like hers once before. Hell, I've only ever seen green-blue eyes once before. On –

_No._

My heart does a summersault. My jaw drops open. _No_. _NO. _That can't be possible. You're losing it, Vieve. You've gone insane. Stop thinking that right now! But when I reach out to her face with my shaky hands and wipe more makeup off frantically, I can't help but be convinced further. She's thoroughly confused by now, but I don't continue to fight her. I take a long, critical look at her. It all makes sense now. Her height, her hair, her eyes, even her face structure. My eyes sting. How could this be? This is impossible. This isn't _right._

"B-Blake?" I choke out.

Her eyes widen to an enormous size. Her green-blue eyes suddenly look so familiar that I wonder how I stared into them but still did not recognize her. Oh god, how did I not notice before? This is my best friend in the whole entire world. She's alive and well. I thought someone stole her body when I couldn't find it on the Arkham floor, that night she took a bullet for me. But no, she wasn't even dead. She's here, living and breathing. I want to cry hysterically like a teenaged girl. I want to hug her tightly and never let go. I want to chat about Troll 2 and Disney movies and comic books like we used to.

But she's working for the Joker.

Is this some sort of sick game? My best friend, someone I thought I had lost forever, is practically back from the dead. And she's working for the enemy. She's his minion, his sidekick, the girl who does his dirty work. She's Nobody, as he has called her before. I want to murder him. Seeing Blake again should be something joyful. We should be hugging and crying and laughing. But instead, we're fighting each other. And it breaks my heart.

The complete shock on Blake's face passes, replaced by the same chaotic look the Joker wears 24/7. Except this is times 10. She's making up for being caught off guard. Like a surge of energy goes through her, she hurls me off her body. I fall down at the Joker's feet, the wind getting knocked out of me. My body aches. She threw me hard, like I was nothing more than a rag doll. But what really hurts the most is that it was Blake who did that to me. Not the Joker, but someone I trusted. Someone who I loved like a sister.

"Blake is dead," she says in a scratchy voice. "I'm Nobody."

Sadness courses through me. I've really lost her. She's not dead, but she might as well be. Because Blake is gone. The Joker's minion has taken her place. She's not someone I know anymore. I hear the Joker laughing cruelly above me, and it takes all I have not to burst into tears. Who wouldn't? I've just gained my best friend back, only to lose her by her own choice. It seems life is always separating us one way or another. But I won't let either of them see me cry.

"You see, Red," Joker begins condescendingly. "Anyone can be an agent of chaos. Your little friend just needed a push to reveal her true nature. We all have a little craziness inside us, don't we? Some of us embrace that chaos and become the freaks we were born to be."

I get up using my elbows and glare up at him. He brainwashed my best friend. Of course she has crazy inside her. That's one of the many things I loved about her. But he abused that craziness and made her into the person I see before me now. She wasn't born this way. He _made _her this way.

"Acting like you can swing in here and save your precious city from crumbling? Let me tell you, Red: Not. Very. Convincing. You see, Red, I like you. I really like you. You got passion, you got fire, and you're just insane enough to run around in that crazy costume."

I scowl. He better not be comparing me to himself, because the two of us are nothing alike. He's a homicidal maniac. I would never stoop to his level.

"You could join my game," he continues. "Be all you can be. Because you're a freak, Red. I can see it in you. Why keep pretending to be like the rest of them when you're not? You're a weirdo. You're a _nobody_. And I can show you the way. Because even the mightiest can fall, right Nobody?"

He directs the last statement to Blake, who just nods in response. No, Blake. This isn't you. Don't give into him. I refuse to comply with the Joker. I won't be joining his game anytime soon.

"Think about it, Red. You know where to find me."

Blake punches me in the back of the head, sending my face colliding with the ground. I groan and pick myself up with my elbows. Just like I predicted, they're gone when I raise my head. I laugh bitterly. Of course! She walked away as quickly as she left my life last time. She just let me think she was dead. She just let me mourn and grieve! She joined the fucking _Joker _and betrayed me like we were never best friends. The bitch!

I punch the nearest wall, feeling my fist pulsing. The pain is microscopic compared to my anger. How could she?! We were best friends, practically family. I told her everything. She took a bullet for me. I tried to save her. She saw how devastated I was when she made me leave her behind! And she turns around and does _this_ to me?

No. Way.

I turn from the alley and march back into the streets, prepared to walk all the way home. With each step, I feel a little tugging at my heart, but I tell myself not to cry. I will not cry. Not over her. Not now. I already cried all my tears for her death.

She should have stayed dead.

* * *

I slam to door when I enter the house in the civilian clothes I stashed in the cave, feeling the anger still simmering in me. It hasn't faded in the least. The buildup of tears still burns my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I'm stronger than that. I won't cry.

Dad meets me downstairs in his lounge pants, looking absolutely murderous by now. I've been gone for a hell of a long time, and he's not at all happy with me. The anger radiates off him in waves. The glare on his face is downright homicidal, but something about his presence comforts me. He's the constant in my life now. It's like my mind is screaming, 'hey, here's one person who hasn't let you down or left you!' And it's true. Blake is gone, but I still have Dad.

At least, I'll have Dad until tomorrow.

"Genevieve Iris Wayne, where in the hell –,"

I cut off his rant with a hug. I practically launch myself at him and grip him deathly tight, burying my face in his broad chest. His warmth comforts me. He's alive, and he's here with me. I only have a day with him. A matter of hours.  
So much for that resolve not to cry.

My body shakes with sobs that have been building up since I saw Blake, and I grip onto him even tighter. Dad doesn't try to continue lecturing me. He can sense that I don't need that right now. He just hugs me back tightly while I cry. I need that badly. I may not be a normal teenager, and I take a lot of pride in that, but considering what I'm going through, I'm allowed to be the stereotype and say that everything sucks.

Losing someone is the one thing no amount of training can prepare you for.

* * *

**A/N: Welcome back to the land of the living, Blake Demonte. Oh, how I've missed you. :D**

**Holy crap, it's late! Well, I'm off to bed. Please tell me your thoughts, or I will find you. Just kidding... Mostly.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I know this is a quick update, but anything to avoid homework, right? :P This chapter is more of a father-daughter, fluff ball type thing at the beginning, but I kept it within the realms of believability. Then stuff happens. So enjoy!**

**Also, the first scene was recommended to me by The Diamond Princess so big thanks to her!**

* * *

_"Don't die on me, Blake!"_

_I desperately try saving my bleeding best friend, pressing a hand to her wound to slow the flow of sticky red blood that oozes out, but it's not working. Blood pours freely out of the hole in her body. She looks up at me with her blue-green eyes. They seems to burn a hole in me. They're so intense. And so accusatory._

_"It's your fault," she chokes out in pain. "You're the reason this happened to me!"_

_I shake my head and try to press my hands down on her wound harder. This won't be my fault, because I won't let her die. I can't let this happen. I need to fix my mistake. I need to fix this…_

_When I look down, my hands are covered in an ungodly amount of blood. It soaks them, leaving no space on my hands uncovered. No human body holds this much blood. No one can lose this amount of blood and still be staring up at me with angry, forlorn eyes. I raise my hands up away from her bleeding wound, but the blood just keeps multiplying on my hands, dripping from them. My hands are completely red. I gasp and try to wipe them off, but the blood stays no matter what I do_

_"You caused this!" Blake accuses. "You're the reason I'm the way I am! You're the reason I turned to him! He took me in when you left me to _die_!"_

_"NO!" I scream. "No, no, no, no!"_

_"Vieve."_

_I keep screaming, not acknowledging my name being said. So much blood…_

_"Vieve!"_

_"VIEVE!"_

My body jerks awake, sweating and crying. The tears pour down my cheeks, even now after it's over. I thrash around for a little while longer, expecting to be covered in blood, before I feel a familiarly calloused hand land on my shoulder.

It's just Dad.

I gain awareness of my surroundings after the dream has settled and is now in the past. My head is on Dad's lap. He must have come in here when he heard me screaming and climbed in bed to calm me down. My nightmares are few and far between nowadays, but I tend to actually scream out during them instead of keeping the noises in my thoughts. For some reason, even in my dream world, I don't want to wake Dad, so I keep screaming or talking to a low level. He rarely hears me. I guess I was too loud this time.

I release a labored breath and bury my face in his lap, too embarrassed to look at him with a tear stained face. I never like it when people see me cry. It makes me feel exposed, vulnerable. It makes me feel weak. I always tell myself that crying is a sign of defeat and weakness, so I refrain from doing it as much as possible. I'm not a robot, though. Sometimes, it happens.

"I'm fine," I whisper. It was supposed to come out stronger than it actually did. I definitely do _not_ sound okay. I sound broken. Curse my crying voice. I sound like a mixture of a dying cat and a sad teenage girl. Well, to be fair, I _am_ a sad teenage girl. Dad strokes my hair soothingly.

"No you're not," he says, mirroring my thoughts. "You were screaming louder than you ever have. You don't always have to be so strong, you know."

I cry into Dad's lap some more, doing my best to make it as quiet as possible. He doesn't understand that I _do_ have to be strong all the time. I have to be to keep myself from falling apart and being a blubbering mess at the first sign of trouble. So, when something bad happens, I put on a brave face. That's just what I do. It's who I am. And that's what I have to now with Blake.

Apparently, I wasn't quiet enough in my sobbing, because Dad shushes me as he strokes my hair.

"It's okay, it's fine," he repeats softly. "It's okay to miss her."

But is it? How can it be when she's turned into something… something so _terrible_?! She's the right-hand-man to the Joker, for god's sake! I shouldn't be wasting tears on her. Who knows how many people she's killed, how many bad things she's done? But whatever she does, no matter how much she betrays me...

She's still Blake.

"But it's my fault!" I blurt out. Dad sighs and tries to silence me.

"No, it isn't," he replies.

"But it is! I left her there to die. I abandoned her, my best friend. This is all my fault, and you can't convince me otherwise. Ever."

I'm being harsh on myself, I know, but I deserve it. She took a bullet for me, and I repay her by leaving her to die on the floor of Arkham. What a great friend I am. How could I? I think I know what happened next. The Joker found her on the ground, dragged her away to someplace close to Arkham so she wouldn't bleed out quickly, preformed – or had someone else preform – a crude surgery to get rid of the bullet and stitch her up, and let her repay him with her life and utmost devotion. I think I'd rather die. But, Blake chose life. And a small part of me is still extremely grateful for that fact. Knowing that she's alive and breathing… It gives me some small comfort.

But even more discomfort.

"I know you're too stubborn to let me convince you of anything when you've already made up your mind, but listen to me, okay?" Dad pleads. I remain silent to show that he has my permission to continue. He's right, though. No one can convince me that I didn't cause this. Because I know I did. But what's the harm in letting Dad try talking to me?

"You're far from perfect in any area. So am I. It's taken me a long time to realize that you can't save everyone. There will always be casualties, and every little thing you do has its consequences. If you hadn't left Blake behind, there would have been different consequences. Possibly even worse ones than what actually happened. Don't regret anything you've done. It all happened for a reason."

I sigh a little. He's right. He didn't convince me. But my guilt has eased just a bit. Now I'm just sleepy from all the screaming I've done, and I recognize that tonight is our last night before he's going to be carted off to jail. And dammit, I'm going to make it count.

"Dad, remember that Irish lullaby Mom used to sing to me?" I ask. Mom was a very good, graceful sounding singer, and the Irish Gaelic lullaby she used to sing to me when I was little was her favorite song to sing. She loved the legend behind it. Parents used to sing it to their children thinking that fairies could come in the middle of the night to kidnap them, so they tried to make them fall asleep in order to ward the fairies off. And for some strange reason, Mom was obsessed with that song. Dad heard it constantly when he was dating her, and I find myself singing it around the house at times, so Dad is pretty much guaranteed to remember it forever and always.

"Yeah, why?" he asks suspiciously. He doesn't like where this is going. I smirk lightly. He shouldn't.

"Can you sing it for me?" I ask innocently. Dad groans dramatically. It's not hard to tell that singing is not his thing by a long shot. Hell, even I'm not too fond of singing when asked. I just find myself doing it randomly at a low volume. I can't imagine Dad's singing voice is too willowy and graceful like Mom's was. But I still want to hear it. I miss hearing it every night.

"Please, Dad?" I beg. "You know how much I hate my nightmares. And how much I have them! This might calm me down so I can go back to sleep."

Dad laughs and messes with my hair.

"Well, it looks like we're going on a guilt trip!" he jokes. I shrug. What can I say? I'm so not above making him feel guilty to get what I want. Especially now. I'm getting my lullaby, dammit, and he's going to suck it up.

"Pleeeeaaaasssseeeee?" I exaggerate annoying for effect. Dad groans again, but this time with resignation.

"Fine," he finally concedes gruffly. I smile and bury my head into his lap. I knew he was going to give in. He may be rough around the edges, but he's not one to deny me something like this. Not when I'm this upset. My body relaxes and I wait to hear my favorite childhood lullaby. Thank god Dad can speak Irish.

Dad's voice, gruff and slightly out of key but still soft, starts to sing,

_"Seoithín, seo hó, mo stór é, mo leanbh_  
_Mo sheoid gan cealg, mo chuid gan tsaoil mhór_  
_Seothín seo ho, nach mór é an taitneamh_  
_Mo stóirín na leaba, na chodladh gan brón."_

I sigh in contentment. I've certainly missed this song. I still miss Mom's voice singing it, but Dad will do. Like always, my dad's presence is comforting to me. Consciously, I know he can't ward away my nightmares, but just him being here helps. My body starts to feel heavy. My eyelids droop.

_"A leanbh mo chléibh go n-eirí do chodhladh leat_  
_Séan is sonas gach oíche do chóir_  
_Tá mise le do thaobh ag guídhe ort na mbeannacht_  
_Seothín a leanbh is codail go foill."_

I vaguely feel Dad move my head to my pillow and place the covers further over my body, but otherwise, I'm completely out of it. I'm drifting back into dreamland slowly.

_"Ar mhullach an tí tá síodha geala _  
_Faol chaoin re an Earra ag imirt is spoirt_  
_Seo iad aniar iad le glaoch ar mo leanbh _  
_Le mian é tharraingt isteach san lios mór."_

"Goodnight, Vieve," is the last thing I hear before I go under.

* * *

My stupid combat boots are taking forever to lace up. It's times like these that I curse my taste in clothing. Why did I buy these things again? Oh yeah, because I thought they looked badass. What's the point in looking badass when it takes you an eternity to get them on and ready?

So the press conference is being set up and getting ready to be held as we speak, and I'm getting dressed to go out. I'm not sure where exactly I'm going yet. There's not many places to go. I just need to get out of this house. I feel like the walls are closing in on me and smothering the life out of me. One more minute here and I might throw something through a wall or at someone's head. Maybe I'll go out with a few friends and see a movie or something. Something mundane. I miss mundane.

My outfit today is a dark ensemble. I'm wearing my black _Star Wars_ crop-top underneath a leather Moto jacket with a gray hoodie. My jeans are dark, and my combat boots are black. To top it all off, I have a necklace of two clouds, one white and one black, both saying 'okay'. It's from my favorite book, _The Fault in Our Stars. _I was going to wear my mom's locket, as usual, but today isn't a happy day. I didn't want to wear something like that today. I just want to sulk right now.

I guess today is just not my day.

I know negativity solves nothing, but we've all had those days when you just need to be angry or be upset or be sulking in a corner. You can't be happy or indifferent all the time. And if you try to be, you will eventually explode. Trust me, I should know. So I'm letting today be my bad day instead of trying to perk myself up, because that ain't happening. You win some you lose some, right?

"Miss?" Alfred calls me. I look back at him from my spot at the window. Did I mention Alfred's concerned about me? The grandfather-like figure in him has been deeply worried about my teen angst. I guess that's because I'm usually not like this. He's tried to get me to eat something all day, but I've refused and barely said a word to him. I'm not trying to be rude. I just don't feel up to having a conversation. Or eating, I guess. Rachel is here, but I only gave her a quick 'hello' before stalking off for a place to go put on my boots.

I sigh in frustration and look up at Alfred, who's waiting patiently for my response.

"What?" I snap. Ouch. I didn't mean for it to come out like that. Now I feel the overwhelming urge to apologize to our poor family butler for my not-so-lovely tone. I'm too teenager-ish today.

"Sorry," I rush to say afterwards. "Now what is it that you want?" Damn, I just can't get a sentence out today without sounding like a bitch! But Alfred doesn't seem to take any of it personally. He understands me pretty well.

"Do you require a ride, Miss Genevieve?" he asks evenly. I think on that for a bit, eventually shaking my head. I could use the walk to clear my overcrowded brain, and it doesn't take that long to get to any of the places I could visit. But I give him a weak smile anyways. I can at least make an attempt to be slightly pleasant today.

I hop off my place on the window seat and brush past Alfred on my way out. Before I can actually leave this floor, I hear Rachel calling me. I internally groan. This is no doubt about the press conference. I really don't want to watch my dad admit to being Batman and have to see him be heckled and ridiculed before being dragged off stage. But for some strange reason, my body is forcing me to go in the direction that I heard Rachel calling me from. She stands in front of the large TV, watching the press conference as it happens. I stand by her without a word. I don't offer any, and neither does she.

Harvey is on the screen, standing at the podium and having his picture snapped by the many, rabid photographers. There seems to be some unrest among the crowd before he attempts to gain control of them by speaking.

_"The Batman is an outlaw," _he declares. My blood boils. Great, I've made it just in time for the Batman shaming. The citizens of Gotham are so unappreciative of a man who is saving their asses. Instead, they choose to label him a lunatic, outlaw vigilante. So much for gratitude.

_"But that's not why we're demanding he turn himself in. We're doing it because we're scared."_

Well, _this _has taken an interesting turn.

_"We've been happy to let the Batman clean up our streets for us until now," _he continues. Damn right they have! As soon as the Joker comes in and messes with the order of things, everyone is so quick to turn on Batman like he caused all of it. But before all that, they're more than excited to let him take care of the dirty work the police department refuses to touch.

_"Things are worse than ever!" _someone calls from the crowd, proving my thoughts. Yes, things are worse than ever. But that is the Joker's doing. Not Batman's. How can these people be so quick to turn on someone they once admired?

_"Yes, they are," _Harvey agrees, following it with a short pause. _"But the night is darkest just before the dawn. And I promise you, the dawn is coming."_

I smile a bit. That reminds me of a line I heard in a song: _Sometimes before it gets better, the darkness gets bigger. _And it's true. Things get bad before they get better. And we have to survive it not by placing all the blame on the only thing keeping us from sinking, but by staying strong and going after the real threat. At least Harvey has enough sense to know that.

_"One day, the Batman will have to answer for the laws he's broken. But to us, not to this madman."_

Someone in the background yells out, _"No more dead cops!" _Applause and cheers sound throughout the entire room, much to Harvey's dismay. Mine too.

_"He should turn himself in!" _someone else calls out. I scowl deeply. Shut. Up. Don't they know that Batman may be the only thing keeping them _alive?! _Do they really think the police can stop the Joker? Laughable! The Gotham PD is no match for the Joker.

_"So be it," _Harvey says sadly. _"Take the Batman into custody." _He then starts to step away from the podium, like he's waiting for someone.

Wait, what?

_"I am the Batman," _he declares.

You can hear the collective gasps of everyone in the room. It takes me a few moments to realize that one of the gasps I heard was my own. This is… This is insane. No, it's past insane. Harvey is a much braver man than I ever expected. He gave himself up for something he didn't do in order to protect Batman. And unknowingly, to protect my dad. He's in handcuffs at this very moment, waiting to be carted off.

And Dad is nowhere to be found.

Why am I not surprised? Of course he didn't step up. The Batman mantle and whatnot. He couldn't risk it. I angrily march to the kitchen. Dad knew this would happen all along, didn't he? He had a plan and he kept it from me. If not a plan, then a feeling that this would happen. Hell, I'm not even surprised this happened. It sounds exactly like something the White Knight Harvey Dent would do. And as much as I wish I could ignore it and go about my day like I originally planned, I know I can't. Damn my stupid sense of responsibility.

I rush past the hallways of the manor and head right for the cave. I can easily predict what Dad's next move will be, and it involves busting Harvey's ass out of trouble.

I sure as hell am not letting him do it alone.

* * *

**A/N: If you want to know the English lyrics, the song title is 'Hush-a-bye, Baby'. And don't you dare mock me for that scene. This story needed some father/daughter moments to show that Bruce has a heart. I love him, but dude's Batman. 'Nuff said. So, please do tell me what you think and all. I guess I should do my homework now... *sigh***


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: If you were looking for the action scene with the car chase to be super long, then you will be disappointed. I had plans for this chapter. Yes, that scene is in here, but it's not super long. Enjoy, my lovely readers.**

* * *

I watch as Dad, in full Batman suit, opens the top to Tumbler. I'm planted in the driver's seat in full Blaze garb. I've been in here for a quite a while. It gave me a lot of time to just think about stuff while waiting patiently for Dad to show up like I knew he would. You know, just random stuff. Dad, Batman, Gotham, Blaze, the Joker…

Blake.

I will never admit to this out loud, but my best friend crossed my mind more than once. Okay, maybe she crossed my mind _a lot_. In fact, she might be the thing I thought about the most. But I'm not gonna talk about that right now.

I'd rather talk about the fact that now that the top is open, Dad can finally see me. And he's glaring down at me with a look that could burn through my very soul. God, if looks could kill…

"What the hell are you doing?" he growls out, using his 'Batman' voice. "I don't have time for games."

I scowl back at him. With all the faith he's placed in me thus far, I can't believe he'd ever believe that I'm playing around now of all times. I take Blaze and Batman business very seriously. He all of people should know that.

"I'm not playing at _anything_," I respond, using my Blaze voice to show that two can play at this game. "I know what you're going to do, and I refuse to let you do it alone. So hop in. Because I'm not going anywhere."

I can tell the Dad in Batman isn't found of the idea of me coming along for the ride. But too bad. Because I swear to god, he will have to personally drag me out of this car and up to my room if he wants me to leave, and he knows how long that would take him. I think it's safer for him to just let me come along than to delay this by having to kick me out of the car.

Sure enough, he gruffly gets in next to me and closes the top to the car. It's only after I eagerly put the car in ignition that we both realize that it's _me _in the driver's seat. Not Batman. He turns to me and scowls again.

"Switch with me," he demands. I'm about to oblige when I realize the problem with that; there's no space in here. If we were to switch, it would take too long, and time is of the essence. I shake my head, placing my hands on the steering wheel.

"No can do, B-man!" I declare. "Too difficult in this space and in these suits. And we need to get going _now_. I kind of know what I'm doing. Don't worry!" Oh, he most _definitely _looks worried.

I've taken some of those 'behind-the-wheel' classes as a requirement for sophomore year. Just a few, but I catch onto things quickly. I learned the rules of the road and everything of the sort to the best of my abilities, but when you're driving a vehicle that is already _illegal _in of itself, I don't think experience is the most important thing in the world.

"You crash and you're _dead_, hear me?" Dad growls out. _"Dead."_

Hmm, I think I'd rather crash and die than crash and live to see what my punishment is. But who knows? I might be able to maneuver this baby into safety and leave it with only a few scratches. I'm not that bad. I've done pretty well so far in class. I might not even get into an accident!

Just as quickly as my nerve came, it evaporates in front of my very eyes so quickly that I want to laugh at myself for even thinking I could save this car. Oh, who am I kidding? I don't even have my learner's permit yet, and I have to drive this monster. I am _screwed._

I glance at Batman as I grip the steering wheel tightly, feeling the cool leather underneath my sweaty palms. He looks nervous, even before I've started driving. His worst fear isn't the criminals he faces. Instead, it's being in the car while his sixteen year old kid drives. I roll my eyes. This should be an awkwardly silent drive.

* * *

By the time Batman and I roar in, a large truck in already causing obstructions and trying to launch bullets into the car escorting Harvey Dent to prison. Like I guessed, it's the Joker at the helm of this brigade. God, I hate that psychopath. Going even faster, I head straight for a garbage truck on Batman's orders, ramming right into it and then speeding under it. A feeling of… thrill, I think it is, goes up my spine. That was _cool_.

I know I try my best to be mature, but I'm a teenager and I'm allowed to think stupid crap like explosions and ramming into things is actually awesome. So lay off.

I speed it up as fast as possible, hurling it over cars to get ahead in this line. My entire body is pumping full of adrenaline right now, knowing what I'm heading towards. I've discovered that these things I should ignore like the plague are the things that make me feel the most alive. That must be why I feel even better when our car jumps in front of a bazooka blast meant for the SWAT transportation vehicle with Harvey in it.

We do some flips and tumble, the car covered in fire that consumes almost every inch. I try desperately to maneuver it safely, but this monster or a car is too strong. Both Batman and I tumble and turn as the car flips even more before finally resting on the ground. _Upside down._

It's official. I am going to be the world's worst driver. The entire over-sixteen population shall fear me. I should do the world a favor and never drive again.

I groan a little bit from the feeling of being jostled so much in this small space. Remind me to never do that again.

"I guess this means I'm grounded?" I ask, trying my best to lighten the mood. Batman reaches over me to get to the controls.

"Hold that thought," he says as he presses something. The computer voice in the Tumbler begins to blare _'scanning all systems,' _over and over again. The female computer voice really grates on my nerves, especially after all that noise that has probably permanently damaged my eardrums. Batman does some fancy button work that I can't even follow. I don't know much about the inner workings of the Tumbler. Hence me failing miserably and landing us in a fiery car crash.

_'Damage catastrophic,' _it informs us. I have the strongest urge to punch the stupid computer. Gee, I had _no _clue that this damage was catastrophic! It's not like we're upside down in a wrecked car that was previously up in flames! Nah!

It hits me that Batman is trying to switch us to the motorcycle. But the transition is only meant for one seat. That means the driver gets on it. I groan and shut my eyes. The fact that I never learned how to ride a bike is coming back to haunt me at this moment. Shit.

"Only one person can fit on the motorcycle," I tell him. "You take it."

Batman looks at me like I'm insane. I'm telling him to leave me here after I finagled my way into coming along for the ride and then wrecking my only other mode of transportation. Did I ever tell him that I don't know how to ride a bike? I can't remember. I shrug it off and crawl over to his seat like a little monkey, ending up squished up against his back. It takes him some time to make his way to the driver's seat, but he eventually makes it.

"Are you sure?" he asks, just as the car warns us it is about to eject. I nod and push away from him to make sure I don't get any backlash when the motorcycle shoots out.

"I'll be fine! I'll find you later!" I promise. Just in time, the car says _'goodbye,' _and Batman is out of the vehicle in a motorcycle, practically flying down the street at his speed. I crawl out of the Tumbler after he's safely out and dash away from it. I know what happens when something like this is broken beyond repair. Sure enough, it self-destructs and goes up in flames. I snort a little when a thought occurs to me; at least it's not flames induced by _me _this time around.

I turn to find some guys watching me with their jaws wide open. They saw all that? Well, good luck to them getting someone to believe their story. I quickly take out my grappling hook and shoot it upwards to scale the nearest tall building. If I can survey the area, I might be able to spot the focal point of chaos and know exactly where Batman is so I can locate him.

To my disappointment, I can't see anything from here. I grapple onto another building close by. This one is a little taller. I walk across the roof, trying to get closer to the other side. I can't see much, but I can hear some screaming and just the sheer sounds of chaos. I'm getting closer.

I shoot my grappling hook out farther, reaching a building even farther away from my starting point. I zip line my way there, stopping when my feet hit the side of the brick, then scale the building. The sounds are getting even closer. I'm getting closer to Batman. I frown and berate myself for never learning how to ride a bike. I should have believed everyone when they said it would come in handy someday.

Something goes right past my ear, making me jump. A dull thud rings out from the gutter on the building across from me. I strain my eyes and look at what made the sound. A knife sits, perched on the cheap, plastic gutter. I turn around with a scowl. And who do I find facing off with me?

None other than 'Nobody' herself.

"You picked the wrong time to go all heroic, Red," she mocks, approaching me with a cocky spring in her step. I place a hand on my utility belt to show her that I'm not messing around. My blood is boiling. She dares to approach me after what went down between us before? She really has no semblance to the Blake I knew.

"Don't call me _Red_," I hiss back. She smirks and laughs at me, throwing her head back like it's the funniest thing she's ever heard.

"What do you want me to call you? _Blaze? _I'm sure as hell not going to use your real name. Wouldn't want to ruin your precious identity, now would I?"

How very considerate of her. I'm just fucking _flattered._

"It's good to know that one of us is above that, _Blake_," I shoot back. Fury spreads across her face, and the vindictive part of me says 'good'. I was aiming to get her angry. She gets even closer to me, a homicidal gleam in her eyes as she whispers something.

"Never call me that name ever again."

Or maybe it's closer to a low growl.

There's a part of me that wants to get through to her and make her see the error of her ways – make her realize that she's still Blake and doesn't need the Joker – but then there's the part of me that wants to beat her face into the concrete for her blatant betrayal of me. I don't know which one to listen to and let control my actions.

"Why not?" I snap. "That's who you are. And you can't run from that. You can put on all the makeup you want, dye your hair any color, follow any psychopath that will take you in, and kill whomever you desire, but you're still the same person on the inside, even if she's stuck in a cage and not allowed to show on the outside. You. Are. Still. _Blake._"

My words send her into a rage, and she jumps on me immediately. I tumble to the ground with her weighing me down. I roll us to the side, trying to get her off of me. But she's pissed now. I can tell. She's even stronger and more determined than the last time. I feel her put a cool knife to my neck and use her combat boot-covered feet to pin me down.

"I'm _Nobody,_" she hisses. "Blake died on the floor of Arkham that night. She's gone. Forever. Deal with it."

Anger rises in me. No, I refuse to believe that. My best friend is not gone, replaced by some sort of demon. She's still in there. In a fit of rage, I head-butt her hard. Her head goes flying back and she cries out in pain. It gives me enough time to slip out from under her hold and get one over on her myself, pinning her to the ground.

"No, you aren't!" I shout back. "Nobody doesn't exist. She's a creation by the Joker to make you into something you aren't. Don't fall for it!"

She practically growls at me, trying to reach up and grab my jacket. I dodge her attempts.

"I embrace my inner chaos!" she screams at me. "You can't! One day, you'll end up just as crazy as the rest of us, and I'll be there to say 'I told you so'!"

With that, she latches onto my hair and pulls me down to the ground. I curse as it makes contact with the hard concrete. In a flash, she's straddling my stomach and pulling out one of her knives again. I look up at her and the rage in her eyes, and something changes. I see something. It's like I'm looking at her in a different way. Blake has always had chaos in her, but she's always had something else too.

Daddy issues.

Well, mommy issues too, I guess.

Now all I can see when I look up at her is a lost girl who just wants someone who will make her feel good about her inner darkness. Someone who will embrace it and make her feel less alone. And that's why she turned to the Joker. Because he makes big promises. Who else would love her chaos like that except me? And _he _didn't leave her to bleed out on a floor.

Guilt rolls over in me. What is this really _is _my fault? Did I not show her that I'll accept who she is? I don't know how to make her understand.

"I know you have chaos in you," I admit while she brings the knife closer. "I will always know that. And I'll always accept that. But you will always be Blake because you still have ties to her."

She stops short of putting the knife to my throat.

"As long as I'm around and remember the Blake I knew, she isn't truly gone. Not everyone forgot about you and moved on like you think. I still think about you all the time. I still watch _Troll 2 _and Disney movies and paste funny pictures of us up on the wall!"

She falters a bit, shaking her head like she's trying to rid herself of the memories that are coming flooding back to her.

"Stop," she croaks out desperately. I wish I could, but I can't stop now.

"When I'm alive, so is Blake. So if you _really _want to get rid of her, you'll have to get rid of me first."

She was about to punch me in the face before my last sentence, but her fist retracts just a bit. She hesitates. So, she doesn't _want _to kill me. That's a positive I guess. With her distracted, I'm able to grab onto her and throw her down. Her knife goes flying out of her hand, and I manage to catch it. I sit on her stomach like she did to me, holding the knife close to her to make sure she doesn't escape. Now that I finally have said all I need to say and have her pinned, I have no idea what else to do.

Of course, the logical part of me says knock her out and deliver her to the police. It's the right thing to do. It's what Batman would do. But I'm not Batman. And this is my best friend. I still feel like I could get through to her. And I can't do that if she's locked up in Arkham.

Then there's the issue of the Joker. I can't imagine he'd be too thrilled to hear that his accomplice is in Arkham, probably being brutally questioned. The slight chance that she could betray him could be enough for him to somehow kill her in order to keep her quiet. The Joker doesn't _really _care about her as she thinks he does. To him, she would be a lose end. Someone who needs to be silenced. He wouldn't want her to be around to spill anything. She's disposable, like all his other accomplices.

I narrow my eyes at her. She has no idea how generous I'm being right now. I'm sparing her freedom, and potentially her life. I grab the heaviest thing on my belt and blindly hit her with it a few times, making sure it's not too hard. Wouldn't want to kill her. I just want to knock her ass out for some time while I make my getaway.

Eventually, her breathing steadies and her eyes come to a close. She's unconscious. I take my grappling hook and shoot it to a building farther away from her, closer to the main road. I get one last look at her, sprawled out on the ground. She looks so different in her makeup and suspenders and torn tights. But those combat boots she loves so much still gives me some hope that the Blake I know is there. Maybe it's deep, deep down inside this mess of a person, but I'm sure it's there. And I'll find her.

I just need to figure out how.

* * *

I dragged myself home after a quick meet-up with Batman. He explained that I was no longer needed from this point on. He was just going to question the Joker, something that is a one-man job. So I decided that a nice long shower and my soft bed were both in order. I changed into Mickey Mouse lounge pants and a black tank top that says 'wild spirit'. Then I launched myself into my comfy bed, where I've been laying for the past fifteen minutes. I've just been waiting for sleep to take me. Despite my exhaustion, something is keeping me up. I'm not sure what. Just… something. It must be my stupid brain. I should just try to stop thinking all together.

I hear some rattling just as I'm starting to drift off. I jerk my body to full awareness, annoyed that something kept me from falling asleep. I sit up straight in bed, looking around my room. What woke me? I jump up out of bed and slip my feet into some black slippers. A chill hits me as soon as the covers are fully off me. I don't remember it being this cold in the room.

When my eyes glance over to the window, I see that it's open. It must have been the cause of the chill. I tilt my head in confusion. That's odd. I don't remember leaving it open. Then again, I can't really remember anything in my tired state. I might have opened it earlier today and forgot. I sigh and trudge over to my window to close it. The cool breeze coming through my window hits my face again, and I take a small moment to appreciate the air of the night.

My eyes catch onto something flying forward, but it's coming too fast. Before I know what's happening, something hard and cool smacks into my face, sending me flying backwards. I groan and grab my cheek. OW! What the fuck was that?! I groan and pick myself up, looking around me. A big, grenade-looking object lays next to me. How the hell did _that _get in here? Did someone chuck this at me? My cheek is still pulsing in pain, but I cautiously reach out and touch the weird object. It's cool to the touch. I retract my hand as soon as I feel it. Now I just have to find a way to dispose of it, whatever it is.

A little hissing sound comes from it, and then gas starts to disperse. I jolt up from my spot on the ground and dash away from it. Now I understand what's going on. Someone's trying to gas me. I don't know what gas it is and what it's for, but I do know I have to leave. _Now._

I rush over to my door and pull on the doorknob. But it's stuck. How the hell is it freaking _stuck?! _It locks from the inside! Someone jammed it. Someone broke in here unnoticed and jammed my door. Whoever they are, they have skill. I pull and push with all my might, trying to get the door open. The gas is spreading throughout my room, forming thick clouds. I crouch down to avoid it. I have to get out soon, or it will reach me and do whatever it is it was meant to do. Whether that's killing me or knocking me out, I refuse to take the chance.

I take my foot and try to break down the door. It doesn't budge. Dammit, Dad, why did you have to choose high quality doors? I try again, but it's just as stuck. The gas starts to waft over to me, tickling my nose. It has basically no smell to it. Inhaling it goes unnoticed to me. It fills the room up to the limit. I can see it around my body, trapping me in this little bubble of gas. I can barely see in front of me. In the distance, I can just barely see my window has been closed. I swear, I didn't close that.

Drowsiness hits me in waves. I'm so tired, I just want to sleep. So this is what the gas is for. It's sleeping gas. My body falls to the floor in exhaustion. My eyelids start to droop. I try to fight it off mentally, but my body is starting to shut down. My mind turns at a million miles a minute, like it's trying to get some thinking in before I pass out cold. I don't know what's happening, or why, but I do know one thing.

There is only one person besides Dad or Alfred who would know that I'm here right now.

Blake ratted me out, didn't she?

* * *

**A/N: I honestly DO NOT know how to ride a bike. I tried to when I was five, but I eventually gave up in a fit of rage and refused to learn. Years and years later, I still have yet to try again. Never underestimate how stubborn I am. And a word of advice: don't go hating on Blake just yet. You never know what could happen...**

**Sorry if I let my sarcasm get out of hand in this chapter. I wrote most of it at night while sick with a cold. That must have contributed to it. So please tell me your thoughts and all that junk. I will see you later. BYE!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Word to the wise; never go too far in google images while looking up 'fire'. Then you start to see burn scars. Even if it's second degree burns. Just... Just don't do. Just don't. DON'T. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. Enjoy the chapter and your mind unscarred by the images I saw...**

* * *

_"Sup, Vieve?" Blake greets me as I walk into her living room. I smile at the fact that I don't even have to knock before I come in her house. I just waltz right in like I'm a member of her family. Hey, I'm here more than either of her parents!_

_"Not much," I answer as I plop down on her couch. I can see the anime blasting from the nook on her lap, and I roll my eyes. She sure loves her anime, while I was never able to get into it. And believe me, I tried for her sake._

_"Now, if you'll put that… _stuff_ away…" I say, searching for words to describe the Japanese cartoons. She looks up from her nook and fake-glares at me._

_"You dare come into my house and disrespect my anime?"_

_I roll my eyes at her dramatics. Blake is known for that. I stare at her anime playing, until she finally groans and turns it off, chucking the nook to the side and turning back to me._

_"James made cupcakes yesterday if you want some," she offers. I make a mental note to take her up on that later, as her butler makes cupcakes that could put even Alfred to shame. Right now, however, I'm bored and on a mission._

_"You know what I think we should do?" I ask. Blake looks at me with an exaggerated excitement to match mine._

_"Cut off the heads of our enemies and have a sacrificial burning?" she asks cheerily. I laugh at how easily she managed to say something so totally weird. And how much it compliments my own weirdness._

_"Close!" I say. Blake claps her hands together and gets an expression on her face like she has just realized the ultimate secret of the universe._

_"Go to Hot Topic and then stop to get something to eat after?" she asks again. I throw my hands up dramatically._

_"YES!"_

_The two of us link arms and head out, laughing the whole time. I've never met someone who gets me more than she does. And someone who can get Hot Topic out of sacrificial burnings._

* * *

With a sputtering gasp, my eyes snap open. I inhale fume free air gratefully. My head pounds like a drum, and I try to grasp onto my first coherent thought in my tangled web of a mind.

_Where am I?_

I'm able to focus long enough to see that I have no idea where I am. And I have no idea how I got here… Wherever 'here' is. I try to look around, hoping that it'll give me some clue as to where I am. I see some barrels. Well, more like barrels as far as the eye can see. I think they're oil drums. Yeah, that sounds about right. And a phone. Yep, that's right. A randomly placed phone next to a timer that is counting down. I can feel panic stirring in me at the sight of it. What is it counting down to? Common sense from action movies and such tells me that it's a bomb or explosive.

A groan next to me snaps me back into my senses. I turn my body to my side and see a head, almost right by mine. The dark blonde hair and distinctive jawline are the first things I see. It's Harvey Dent, who is passed out like I was minutes ago. I resist the urge to curse aloud. Despite our efforts, we didn't save Harvey. He's stuck as well as I am. Something tells me that he would have been slightly safer in prison.

I just now notice the scratchy rope digging into my wrists. I jerk them about to no avail. They're firmly tied to my wrists, which are resting against the back of a chair. I could get out… If my ankles weren't attached to oil drums. Freaking yay. I'm still in a bit of a bind.

Hah, bind. Nice timing for puns.

I jerk my body around even more, trying my best to loosen the ropes that bind my wrists. Nothing happens, except for the chair rattling a bit. They're tied on tightly. Damn whoever tied these ropes. They sure paid attention in Boy Scouts.

"Harvey?" I whisper. My voice sounds hoarse to my ears. I clear my throat out. I sound like an absolute mess, something I hate to resemble. I try my best to keep it together.

I hear him groan again. That's a good sign, right? He's still breathing. That has to be good. Of course it's good. Stay positive, Vieve. Just stay positive. You'll find some way out… Somehow.

"Huh, what?" he gasps out. He woke the same way I did; confused and afraid. I wonder how they got him. Did they gas him? Or just knock him out? For his sake, I hope the latter. Choking on the fumes that filled my room was not a pleasant sensation byy any means.

"Are you okay?" I ask as gently as possible. I wouldn't want to startle him even more. Because honestly, even I'm terrified. I know little about what's going on besides the basics. Like the fact that Blake snitched on me to the Joker. How else could someone know I would be in that room of the manor at that moment? And why would someone do that to me if they didn't know I was Blaze? I'm of no importance otherwise. Yes, this was definitely born out of Blake revealing my identity to the Joker. Or maybe he knew it before and she just told him that we fought tonight. Either way, this is her fault. I just hope she wasn't the one to tie me to these oil drums. That's double betrayal.

"Vieve? Vieve Wayne?" Harvey asks. I turn my head to find him looking at me incredulously. I look down and realize that I'm still in my pajamas. I must look pretty ridiculous. If I was in my Blaze outfit or even a normal day outfit, there'd be a knife in my boot that I could use to get us out of here. But I don't keep a knife in my slippers.

"The one and only," I respond shakily. "Listen, don't panic. Whatever you do, don't panic. It'll just make it worse. We just have to stay calm until someone comes to get us, okay? You know that they're probably looking for you as we speak. They'll come get you."

The knowledge that Harvey is an important man in Gotham comforts me to a degree. People will notice his absence quickly. Me, on the other hand, not so much. As far as Alfred and even Dad are concerned, I'm asleep in my bed, blissfully unaware of the chaos that is occurring at this very moment. I wish I was instead of sitting in this damn chair, connected to these oil drums.

Harvey nods. It looks more like he's trying to convince himself of this, but that's okay with me. Because in all honestly, I'm just trying to convince myself too. He's not alone. I'm scared shitless right now and not afraid to admit it.

"Why're you here?" he asks.

_Because I'm Blaze and my former best friend-turned insane clown groupie stabbed me in the back._

Of course, I don't say this out loud. I simply shrug like I'm an innocent bystander who knows nothing at all.

"No idea," I respond. God, I hope I sound convincing. "Someone threw a gas bomb through my window and here I am. I woke up a few minutes before you."

He accepts my answer, fortunately. Hey, it's half-true! And I've been told I'm an excellent liar.

_"HELLO?!" _a voice screams from the telephone that rests on an oil drum. I know the voice immediately.

"Rachel!" Harvey and I yell at the same time. It's good to hear a familiar voice right about now, but devastating at the same time. That means she's in the same tight spot as us. And if anyone doesn't deserve that, it's Rachel. She's too good for this. She's too good for Gotham's world of crime. Her association with Harvey makes her an automatic target. For what, I'm not even sure yet. Being blown to little pieces, maybe?

_"Harvey? And is the other voice I hear Vieve?"_

"We're both here," Harvey answers for me. Desperation begins to kick in as I struggle with these ropes that bind me. If only I had been knocked out when I was in my Blaze gear. Then I'd be able to get through these. But like this, it's impossible.

"You're in a chair and surrounded by oil drums that you're tied to, aren't you?" I ask her. A short pause lingers in the air for a few moments. It gives me my answer. I wish I was wrong, but this is getting tragically predictable.

_"Yes," _she responds in a scratchy voice. _"Listen, we don't have much time. They told me that only one of us was going to make it. And that they'd let our friends decide."_

Well, that delightful little plot twist does it. I'm dead meat. What friend of theirs would choose my life over either of theirs? None. Of course, I'm sure that if someone chose Harvey that I would be rescued too. It wouldn't weight well on anyone's conscious to leave a seemingly innocent teenage girl to die. But something deep inside me says that they would choose Rachel if forced to make a decision between the two. Like I've said before, she's one of the few really good people you'll meet. And any sane person would treasure that. As much as I probably shouldn't think this, I would choose Rachel over Harvey if I had to.

"They're gonna come get you, Rachel," Harvey assures her. Looks like I'm not the only one convinced of that fact. That's comforting in a weird way.

"You just have to sit tight," I back him up on the issue. "They'll get you. Don't you worry."

God, I really am my mother's child. She was the most reassuring, soothing, nurturing person you could come across, even before I was born. She could be lying in bed with a stomach virus hindering her movements, but she'd still comfort you over a bad grade in math class. And here I am, about to die, and I'm trying to get Rachel to calm down. I don't know if I should be proud of myself or smack myself upside the head for not valuing my own life enough to be more concerned about it.

Harvey begins to rock back in forth in his chair, tipping it over to the edge quite a few times. A hard weight settles in my stomach. Something tells me that he should probably just stay still if nothing else.

"Uh, Harvey? I don't think that'll help much…"

Before he can respond, he falls flat on his face, tipping over an oil drum. The honey colored liquid spills across the white tile, covering the entire left side of his face in the flammable substance. Well, he can't say I didn't warn him, can he?

_"What? What's going on?" _Rachel asks anxiously. Harvey tries to answer, but he can't without getting the oil in his mouth. He spits it out, sending the oil splashing in all directions. The droplets smack my arm. I watch the thick liquid run down, all the way to my elbow. God, Harvey, stop spreading it around!

"He just fell over," I answer for Harvey. "He's fine."

At least, I hope he'll be fine. All that oil on his face when we're facing an impending explosion _cannot _be good.

The sound of a clanging door opening rings out from the side. I tear my gaze away from Harvey still thrashing on the floor, and look over to where the sound came from. All I can register is a sinking feeling in my gut knowing that someone came for _us _instead of Rachel.

But it's not Gordon or Batman or anyone else that I would expect to come and save us. It's _Blake_.

Oh, I'm sorry. I meant _Nobody._

I feel the rage starting to take over as she approaches, and I snap and growl like a dog. I wish she would just go away. What the hell is she even here for? To rub it in?

"What are you doing?!" I scream at her. "You're the reason I'm here and then you just decide to show up like you have every right in the world?"

She ignores me and comes closer, stepping over a very confused looking Harvey. I thrash around to try to get away from her and ignore the inevitable of whatever it is she's going to do.

"Get away from me!" I snap. "Haven't you done enough already? What more do you want?"

She doesn't acknowledge the fact that I even spoke. She simply grabs me out of the chair like my weight is nothing to her. And I guess you could say it is. She's much taller than me, meaning she also has more muscle and weight on her body than I do. She picks me up with ease. With the hand not around my waist, she takes out a knife and cuts my connection to the oil drums. Harvey stares up at us, completely dumbfounded. He's not the only one totally confused.

"What are you doing?" I demand. I'm not surprised when she ignores me. Typical.

"Is this your way of repaying me for not turning you in?" I ask icily. "Because it's a really shitty way to say thank you."

She flinches, but starts to drag me away like I said nothing. I thrash around wildly. What is she doing? I don't want to be rescued! I want Rachel to be rescued. Hell, I want Harvey to be rescued over me. I don't know how I'll be able to live with myself knowing that my life was valued over theirs for some strange reason. I mentally will her to take them instead.

"If you really wanna repay me, rescue Rachel, not me!" I scream. Of course, I'm ignored again. I fight, but she keeps on dragging me away. I can faintly hear Rachel on the phone, asking what's going on. Nobody throws the door open with her foot and practically carries me away, leaving Harvey inside. Leaving him to die. But it's okay, right? Because Nobody isn't either of their friends. And Rachel said that their friends were going to come save one of them. There's still hope.

Once we're a good distance away from the warehouse, Nobody throws me onto the gravel sidewalk. My ankles are still tied together, preventing me from moving all that much. I get up on my elbows and look up at her. She has a blank, stoic expression on her face. I can't read her, and it's frustrating. I thought she was the mastermind behind trying to kill me, and here she is saving my life. I don't understand it. I don't understand _her_.

"What… Why…?" I stumble, unsure what to say to her. She glares and me and crosses her arms over her chest. For a small, but wonderful second, I see the old Blake. The defiant, sarcastic Blake I knew. The girl who always had a spark of rebellion in her eyes no matter what. But that spark is hard to see when she's wearing those purple colored contacts. How many colors does she own, anyway?

"Maybe I don't actually want you dead, okay?!" she screams at me. Her eyes are narrowed. She looks pissed. I don't think it's at me though. Maybe it's at herself. Whatever it is, I don't care. My face goes red with fury.

"But I thought that you were the one who brought me here!" I shout back at her. "You're the only one who knows who I am and where I would be!" Great, now _I'm _pissed too. I don't like it when people scream at me. Blake – err, I mean _Nobody_ – shakes her head and laughs bitterly.

"Don't assume things about me, _Vieve_." The way she spits out my name, like's it's venomous, confuses me. She rescued me from what looks like will be a fiery death, but she still seems not at all happy with me. Know what? I think I just give up. I may _never _understand this person Blake has become. At least, I'll never understand her motives. All I know is the person she was when she was Blake. But now… Now she's Nobody.

I don't think I've quite grasped that yet, have I?

She starts to walk away from me. For once, I let her go. What more is there to say or do? I think I need to let her go in more ways than one. But I won't. I won't let myself. It's like a disease.

Seconds after she disappears from my sight, Batman comes roaring up next to me. I squirm around so he'll notice me in this dim light. He hear me rustling and looks down. When our eyes meet, I can see shock and a little bit of fear pas through his.

"What're you doing here? Are you alright? Did anyone hurt you?" His questions are fired at me one by one at a rapid pace. Of all times the concerned parent can make an appearance, this time is _not _a good one.

"No time," I insist. "Just go!"

He gives me a quick nod and rushes into the building. I let out a relieved breath. At least I won't have Harvey's death on my conscious.

Wait – Harvey?

Oh shit.

That Joker bastard. This has his handiwork written all over it. He tricked Batman. There is no chance in hell he'd choose Harvey, his competition for a woman's heart, over Rachel, the said woman that he wishes to win over. The Joker switched up their locations just for the fun of it. Batman thinks he's rescuing Rachel right now instead of Harvey, who will probably be equally as devastated to realize he gets to live instead of his girlfriend. Damn the Joker and his sick games. Dammit, dammit, dammit!

Harvey's agonizing screams of 'Rachel' bounce off my eardrums and tear at my heart. The Joker is a sick bastard. I swear, if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to find him and tear him to pieces. Batman rushes out of the warehouse, Harvey in a hold under his arm to keep him from slipping out. Harvey is still screaming for Rachel in a desperate, scratchy, and heartbreaking voice. I can sense his emotion and thoughts. He knows Rachel is about to die, and he's gone into his utmost panic mode.

My frustration builds at this entire situation. Isn't there some way to save Rachel?! Did Batman come here without back-up from Gordon and his men? This can't be the end all be all. There has to be some way. There's always a –

A deafening explosion cuts off all thought from reaching my brain. The giant, blindingly bright fire billows out from the other side of the warehouse, looking like the 4th of July. I scream out angrily. That's it. Rachel's gone. How can someone's entire life just end and be over so quickly? Just a few minutes ago, I was talking to her from a phone and telling her that it was all going to be alright and that she'd be okay. I'm sorry, Rachel. I lied.

The fire spreads quickly from all the oil, coming towards us like a wave. Batman throws Harvey down on the ground near the curb, right next to me, but that doesn't stop the entire left side of his face from lighting up like a Christmas tree. I gasp and back away in horror while Batman does his best to put the flames out with his cape. Harvey is screaming bloody murder, but I can't hear it over the blood pumping to my ears like a heartbeat. Everything is so out of focus. I look down at my arm when I feel an odd sensation prickling at me.

I'm on fire.

I shove my arm into the rainwater that has collected near the gutters on the curb in an attempt to put it out. One try gets it to calm down. Another try almost puts it out. Three tries and the fire is gone. But now I _really _can feel it. My arm still feels on fire, even when it's gone, and I can hardly take it. It's like a thousand knives stabbing me at once. It's a white hot pain that makes everything else I've ever felt feel insignificant in comparison. I bite my lip to keep the noise contained and hold back tears that prick at the corner of my eyes.

_This is good, _I tell myself as I fight the pain. Second degree burns are the painful ones. Third degree burns you can't even feel because of the intensity. That's good. That means I only have second degree burns. But try telling yourself that when you feel a pain beyond all pains eating away at you.

The lights and sounds of an ambulance start to roll in. I try holding on to my consciousness through the excruciating pain that threatens to send me tumbling under. A hand comes to rest on my forehead. Batman's gloved one.

"Hold on," his voice tells me. But it's distant. And the pain has yet to recede. My eyes roll back, and I feel one more stabbing pain before it causes my body to shut down and all I see and feel is the darkness.

Now I have some more battle scars to add to my collection.

* * *

**A/N: Please, if you value your mind and your appetite, DO NOT REASEARCH BURNS. See, this is why 'doctor' is scratched off the list of future occupations I could have. Because I am a WUSS, my friends. *shivers from memories of burn pictures* If my research is correct, you CAN get off easy with second degree burns if your contact with flames is a very short amount of time. It's not like I'm going to go test that theory to make sure, so I'm trusting the internet for now.**

**Bye-bye, and I'll see you when I update next (which is hopefully soon). :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: So my mood swings are running wild and this chapter got deleted before, so I'm just going to make this short 'n sweet; this is an angsty chapter. If you hate on Vieve for being emotionally realistic for a teenage girl in this situation... I will cut you.**

**I kid, I kid (kind of). But seriously. If you expected sunshine and rainbows, I must sincerely question how you got this far. So sorry my teenaged character can't have a resiliency of steel. Sue me.**

**On that note, enjoy the chapter.**

* * *

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

My bleary eyes, heavy with sleep, peer open. A wave of drowsiness hits me with such an intensity that I almost go right back to the darkness I was in before. Something about me feels numb, like I'm drugged. My eyelids are drooping so much that they're nearly fully closed. Am I really awake? Is this all some sort of dream? I'm so out of reality. Am I on some drug? Because it feels like it.

Voices dance over my eardrums, lulling me into calmness with the knowledge that people are near. I feel like I'm at home, hearing Dad and Alfred talking outside my door. But no matter how much I feel it, something tells me that I'm not at home. It just doesn't feel right. I don't know where I am. And I am frankly too completely out of my senses to give a damn.

"She's my daughter!" one of the voices declares. Is that Dad? The voice is deep, soothing, and very familiar. Yeah, I think it's Dad. Where is he? I can't see him. I can't see anything with my eyes nearly all the way shut. I'm not at home, am I? Otherwise, he'd be here by now, sitting on my bed and trying to shake me awake for school.

"Sir, we do not think it is best for you to…" a meek voice tries to speak up.

"I don't care!" Dad's firm, angry voice interrupts. Ooh, Dad's angry. Did I do something bad? No, no, he's talking to someone else. Whoever that voice was. Wait… That voice _wasn't _Alfred, right? Yeah, I don't think so. It didn't sound British. Or fancy. In fact, I think it may have been a woman.

A weak, tired smile plasters itself on my face. Oh, I am on _so _many drugs right now. There's no doubt about it anymore.

"You cannot hold her without my permission. I will sign any papers you have. I just want her to be discharged to I can take her home."

My head lulls around, spinning around my neck like a globe. A little groan, nearly unheard even by me, emanates from my lips. Where am I? What's going on? I still don't know whether or not this is real life or a dream. It feels like it does when you wake-up at 4 in the morning to go to the bathroom and then immediately fall right back into your bed and off into dreamland. I'm so… out of it. Maybe I _am _in my bed and this is a really weird dream that I'll wake up from in a few minutes.

The soft pillow underneath my head and the soothing sounds of my dad's voice near me coax my body back into hibernation mode. I fall back asleep at last. Or, at least, I _think _I'm falling back asleep...

* * *

"Miss Genevieve?" Alfred's distant voice calls to me. "Miss Genevieve, are you alright?"

A hand lands on my shoulder, and my eyes open sleepily. I blink a few times to clear them out. A feeling of dread washes over me like it always does when I have to get up. Ugh, why can't I just stay in bed for another hour? Or another day? Either would work for me, really.

I groan like I do every morning. My body is still heavy with sleep, and I _really _don't feel like getting out of my bed to go get dressed for school. It's so warm and nice in my bed. I'm not ready for the day. I'm never ready for the day at 6 in the morning, but today is a really _special _kind of 'not ready'. I look up at Alfred, briefly wondering why he's here instead of Dad. Dad is the one who wakes me up in the mornings. He's either getting ready to head to Wayne Enterprises for something or just getting home from some sort of patrol around that time. Maybe he's sleeping. _Lucky._

"Five more minutes?" I implore desperately. Alfred grins at me, but it looks sad and a little forced. He's someone I always look to when I'm unsure of things, to make everything seem okay. Seeing him looking this way makes me panic. My senses tell me that _something _is wrong. Tension fills the air, and I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don't know what, but something isn't quite right. There's something out of place here.

"What's wrong?" I ask Alfred nervously. My tired brain just doesn't grasp reality quite yet. I feel like I've been sleeping for all of half an hour, but I know that's impossible. I would never go to bed at 5:30 a.m.

What time _did _I go to sleep at? I don't know, and I'm too sleep deprived at the moment to try and remember.

"How are you feeling?" Alfred asks me patiently. It makes me feel weird and a little on edge. He's treating me like I'm sick. Am I? Sure, I feel unusually tired and groggy, even a little out of it, but I don't have a cold or anything like that. I don't remember getting sick. Besides, I think I would know that I'm sick before Alfred does.

"I'm fine," I reply with a noncommittal shrug. A small ache starts in my shoulder when I do, but I try to ignore it. Hmm. I must have pulled a muscle in my sleep or something. I start to feel uncomfortable in my spot on my back, so I start to turn over to my side in hopes of finding a good position. Alfred grabs my other shoulder and gently places me back in my original spot. I look up at him in confusion. Okay, that settles it. He is _so _not getting me up for school. He's acting way too weird for that.

"I don't think you want to do that, Miss," he advises. "Not with your injury."

Injury? Now I'm sure my sleepy brain is keeping a vital piece of information from me. I think, and I mean really think, trying to pull forward memories of what happened before I woke up. I see through the haze of sleep and grab onto my last memory in order to piece together the rest. Then, it suddenly all falls into place.

Joker.

Car crash.

Knock-out gas.

Oil drums.

Harvey.

Rachel.

Explosion.

Fire.

Fire.

_Fire._

My hand flies up to my right arm, the one that I can remember rolling in water in a desperate attempt to put out the flames that burned my flesh. A throbbing pain spreads throughout my upper arm when my fingers land on the patch of skin that was licked by fire. I immediately pull my hand away from my gauze-wrapped arm and gasp in pain. Okay, no more touching the injury. Thanks for the warning, body.

I was hoping that part of the memory was just a very vivid, very screwed up dream. But if the pain is any reminder, then I wasn't dreaming. I look around and find that I really am in my own room, Alfred sitting on the edge of my bed. As much as I love being in my own bed, something is wrong with this scene. Why am I not in the hospital? I was burned! A second degree burn of this severity is some serious stuff. It's not as serious as a third degree burn and nowhere _near _a fourth degree burn – which I shudder just thinking of – but it should be treated properly to keep it from getting infected.

"Why am I here if I have a burn on my arm?" I ask exasperatedly. Alfred sighs and shakes his head, which tells me that he agrees fully with my assessment of myself. I should most definitely be in a hospital, and I'm not the only one who thinks it.

"You were taken to one when you fell unconscious and were subsequently treated, but your father demanded that you be discharged immediately after against the doctor's advice. He said he wanted you home where he could make sure that you were safe."

I soften a bit at his words. Dad just didn't want me somewhere where he couldn't see me and make sure I wouldn't disappear. He lost his best friend, the woman he loved and wanted to start a life with. Sure, she didn't have the same feelings for him, but she was still a lovely person. I can only imagine how he's doing now. I feel awful for scaring him into thinking he could lose me too. I feel awful just in general, body and mind.

"Where is he now?" I ask. Alfred gets a sad expression on his face. Dad's moping, isn't he? Yes, he has the right to mope after something so terrible happens. Anyone would. But I wish he wouldn't. Can't he just talk to me? Nope, he never seems to be able to.

"He's in the living room currently. Just taking a small break, I suppose."

A small break from life is more like it. I think I need one right now too. So much stuff has happened in such a short period of time that it feels like it's been a week. It's hard to believe that all because of the events of today, I'll never see Rachel again. I'll never laugh with her at one of the fancy, stiff parties and continue to laugh as people turn to stare at us. I'll never again confide in her when it comes to 'girl things' I can't talk to Dad about. I'll never even see her bright smile again. And Harvey…

Oh god, what about Harvey? I forgot he was there too.

"What happened to Harvey Dent?" I ask anxiously, reaching out to clutch at Alfred's shirt tightly. He smiles and gently removes my hand. I sheepishly retract it and place it back at my side. I have a habit of grabbing onto things when I get nervous.

"He's in much worse condition than you are, but he will live."

I focus on the positives of what Alfred said. He's not dead. He's in bad condition, but with some extensive surgery, any problem from a fire can be fixed. He'll be good as new in no time! Yeah, I just need to tell myself that. He's going to be just fine.

But I don't know if I'll be.

"Will the burn on my arm leave a scar?" I ask in a small voice. Alfred's eye soften and get a sad glimmer in them. I have my answer even before he nods sympathetically. Most second degree burns don't scar, but most don't come from flames either. I gulp down some tears. I don't want to seem to like a wimp that would get upset over something superficial like that. It's just a scar. Just a really big scar that stretches from right below my shoulder to almost down to my elbow. It won't look pretty, that's for sure, but there are more important things to life than my looks. Like my health, for example. The important thing is that I survived. But that doesn't stop me from feeling unbelievably upset at the permanence of the scar that will soon show up in a matter of weeks.

"I'd like to be alone now," I whisper. I fight against the tears that are still threatening to fall. I don't want to fall apart in front of Alfred. I don't like falling apart in front of anybody. It makes me feel weak. So, I do what I have to do whenever I feel this way; I fake it. I plaster on a strong face and tell myself to hold it together. Under no circumstances will I cry.

Alfred gives me a sympathetic look. Crap, how does he know that I'm about ready to cry? Am I really that readable? I try again at hardening my expression, but there are still cracks in the surface. Why is being strong so damn hard?

"I'll be close by if you need me," he reassures me. I nod and lay back in my bed. I get one more glance back from Alfred before he leaves, shutting my door and sealing the darkness. It would be so easy to just stay in bed for the entire day, coming out once or twice for meals and maybe to check up on Dad. But my curiosity is burning intensely. I know I probably shouldn't act on this plan turning around in my brain, but I know I won't be satisfied until I do.

I throw the covers off my body using my uninjured arm and creep over to my door, turning on the light switch. When the bright lights fill my room, I blink a few times to adjust my eyes. Looking down, I realize I'm not in the pajamas I was wearing when it happened. Now I'm wearing one of my big tee shirts and a pair of sweatpants. I assume my other clothes got ruined. That's too bad. I actually really liked my Mickey Mouse lounge pants. I'm a Disney fangirl at heart.

My full length mirror is on the opposite side of my room. I let out a shaky breath and approach is cautiously, like it's a wild animal. I'm dying to know what my arm looks like now that I know I'll have to live with remnants of last night for the rest of my life. Scars definitely don't look as bad as unhealed burns do, but it might help me gauge what the final product will be. I roll my eyes at myself. What do I care? It will look bad either way. My curiosity has always gotten the better of me, though, because I don't stop until I'm in front of the mirror.

I stand in front of the big, intimidating mirror. Wow, this is harder than I thought it would be. Okay, just relax, Vieve. It's not that bad. Before I look at the burn, I decide to determine all the things about myself that I like to boost my confidence. I love my auburn hair that comes down to about bra length now. I laugh a little when I remember my passionate reaction to Dad when he tried getting me to chop it off. No way in hell am I cutting off my precious hair. At least, not until it gets unmanageable.

I look into my hazel eyes. They make people tell me I look just like my dad. No one has ever seen my mom before, so they can't really determine which parent I look like, but we do have the exact same eyes. They both have a pattern to them if you really look at them. It looks kind of like something blowing up, or maybe a star. It's unique and one of the reasons I love my eyes and Dad's.

I look over some of the smaller details of my body. There's my barely-there freckles that sprinkle my nose, which I have to get up close to see, my pale skin that screams out to the world that I'm Irish, and my petite frame that I have a love-hate relationship with. Sure, I appreciate being slim, but I'd like some curves to showcase to the world that I am, in fact, a teenage girl and not a prepubescent young boy.

Finally, I roll up the baggy sleeve of the shirt that hangs off my body. A gauze covers the entire burn area, pinned together to keep it from falling off. With a shaky hand, I unpin it and watch it unravel. I know it's probably unsafe to undo the gauze of a wound this fresh, but it will only be for a quick second. I'll wrap it back up as soon as I get a good look at my injury. The gauze slowly unravels layer by layer with my hand helping the process along. I eventually feel the last layer coming undone around my arm, relieving the pressure of the gauze.

The first sensation that hits me is the stinging. I bite the inside of my mouth to relieve the pain. I must be on some pain meds, otherwise this would be a thousand times worse. A cool breeze slithers over my arm, leaving the rest of my body unaffected. The skin that was torn off my body must have left it exposed. I shiver from the draft and finally gain the courage to open my eyes. I have to remember, though, it can only be a quick peek. I need to put my bandages back on ASAP.

My eyes drift down to my wound, trailing up and down my arm. As soon as I see it, I want to gag. It looks worse than I even imagined it to be. The skin looks like it's melted off, replaced with a sickeningly pink layer of flesh. The skin around that pink looks like it's peeling off. The whole thing is a disaster. I have to look away to keep what little food I have in my stomach down. I quickly and carefully wrap the gauze back up and pin it together, rolling down my sleeve. I shake my head, wishing it could just disappear.

This was a terrible idea. I should have just left it alone. I didn't want to see that.

_Get used to it_, I tell myself. I'll have to live with a reminder of this for the rest of my life. The thought makes tears prickle at the corner of my eyes. I've seen burn scars before. I've seen some that came after injuries like this. They're discolored and ugly. Mine will be huge, stretching across my entire upper arm. There's no way to hide _that_. How will I wear short sleeved shirts in the summer? How will I change in the locker room during P.E.? How will I hide it from people? I don't want anyone to see it.

Some of the tears in my eyes fall down my cheeks. I angrily wipe them away. I keep telling myself not to be a baby. Some people just have to live with this. It isn't fair, but crying won't change anything. So I should just suck it up and be strong. The tears just keep coming, though, and I keep having to wipe them away. Dammit, why is this so hard? Why does this upset me so much? I turn and look back at my reflection. My eyes are already puffy from crying. Some of the tears stain my shirt. I glare at my own reflection, hating what I see staring back.

I don't see Blaze, the girl who goes out at night protecting Gotham. How can I be Blaze when fire, the very thing I'm named after, is the thing that hurt me? I shudder remembering the flames coming towards me, slowly inching their way up my arm. I'm afraid of it. The very thought of fire terrifies me. I let out a bitter laugh. I really have followed in Dad's footsteps. I'm scared of what I look like. Except I can't make people fear fire like I do. How could I when I'm unable to conquer it? That's what Dad did. That's what Batman did.

But I'm not like Batman.

Anger rises up within me, and I grab the item nearest to the mirror. My hairbrush will do. I take another look back at my reflection and squint. I hate it. I hate it. I _hate it._

Raising the brush above my head, I chuck it straight at the mirror in front of me. It shatters into a million pieces that shower down onto the floor with a satisfying sound. They come down like rain until only a few miscellaneous pieces stay attached to the frame of the mirror itself.

"Seven years of bad luck my ass," I growl. My breath comes out heavy, and I can feel some relief and release of tension from having broken something.

But not enough.

My body shakes as I fall to my knees and sob. What am I trying to prove? That I can somehow destroy the person I see staring back at me in the mirror? Well, it doesn't work. I still can't stop picturing the scar that will stay ingrained on my skin for eternity. I still feel like crying out in terror every time fire pops into my brain. I still can't imagine a world without Rachel Dawes in it. I still feel pathetic for being such a sensitive teenage girl. I'm supposed to be stronger than that.

I lay down on my uninjured side, bringing my knees to my chin, and cry as loudly as I dare. I feel like a little kid who pretends like she doesn't want her parents to hear her crying, but secretly does so they'll come in her room and comfort her. I cry and cry, letting all the tears in my body leak out, and desperately wait for Dad to come to my door, attracted by the sound of my wails. I just want _someone _to tell me that it'll be alright. I never ask for that. I try to be mature. But right now, I need it.

After a few minutes, I give up and drag myself back to my bed. Yeah… he's not coming.

* * *

**A/N: *sigh* Maybe I bad mood will clear up soon, but for now, I feel like stabbing something. Writing is a nice way to get it all out. And before you all freak out on me for making Vieve have a breakdown, I thought myself about what it would be like to get a giant scar on my arm the same day that I developed a phobia and had someone I enjoy the company of die. Let's just say, I wouldn't stop at breaking a mirror.**

**See you all when I update next and when I'm hopefully in a better mood. BYE!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: So I'm updating in a rush because I've gotta be somewhere soon, so no cute note. Enjoy!**

* * *

After wasting time staring at the ceiling and alternating between laying on my bed and pacing around my room like a caged animal, I finally decide that maybe I should go and see how Dad's holding himself together. My anger and sadness have slowly diminished into a comfortable numbness and a begrudging understanding for the fact that I will have a very noticeable scar and a most likely permanent phobia. The irrational side of me whispers that it would have been better getting a third degree burn than a second degree one. They do surgeries on the bad ones. They fix you up good as new because there's no other option. You can't just leave a third degree burn as is. But second degree burn scars are 'no big deal'. You can get them from spilling really hot coffee on yourself or accidentally touching the stove flame. The scars are ugly, but they're not terrible. They're not considered to be worthy of something as drastic plastic surgery.

But it is a big deal to me. Especially when my scar will be this big.

Enough of that, though. There's not much I can do about that. It's about time I checked up on Dad. First things first, I decide it's time to change out of these baggy clothes. I grab one of my regular shirts out of my drawer along with a nice pair of lounge pants. I'm still not too happy that my other clothes were ruined. I miss my comfy Mickey Mouse loungers.

I glance down at my floor and am suddenly aware of the shards of glass buried in my carpet and scattered throughout the area. I cringe as I remember my freak out. I've calmed down since then and find it hard to believe I got that angry. Then again, I always think that the next day whenever I get like that. It's not often that I do this much damage when I'm feeling upset. I try to keep myself under control and be a big girl about things. But this time, that was impossible.

I step over the evidence of my breakdown and remind myself to sweep that up later. Wouldn't want anyone getting cut by it, including myself. I groan. Glass flies _everywhere _when something shatters. I'll have to check across the room and be extra careful of where I step.

I creep out of my room and am surprised when the pale light hits me, signifying that it is still early day. I drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep after my crying fit, but I could have sworn that it would be later in the day. With my curtains drawn and a depressing pall having settled over the atmosphere in my room, I lost all sense of time. But my internal clock told me it was at least mid-afternoon when Alfred woke me. I guess I wasn't passed out for as long as I thought.

It's easy to find Dad, who's sitting on a chair, staring straight forward. He's still in his Kevlar Batman suit, but with the head piece detached and at his side. The look on his face is distant and heartbroken. I'm not sure whether or not to approach him. He looks like he wants to be alone. Part of me feels like I should just let him be. But then again, when do I ever do anything I _should _do?

I walk up to Dad's side, waiting for him to notice me. He doesn't look up or acknowledge my presence. He's still looking straight ahead like he's in some sort of trance. I can practically hear his thoughts. He's thinking about Rachel, about how much he's at fault for not being able to save her. But he's wrong. He wouldn't be able to save her no matter what he does. Her death was unavoidable.

I sit on the arm of the chair. He looks up at me, just barely, as a small way to tell me he knows I'm here. I don't stop there, though. I take his look as an invitation to slowly scoot over on the arm chair until my body dips down as it drops off into the chair itself. I end up sitting on Dad's armor-covered lap, curling my body up a bit so I can fit on the small chair with him. It doesn't take that much effort, considering I'm already a small girl.

I place my cheek on his shoulder while sitting on his lap, getting comfortable in this position. And he lets me. I feel like a cat sitting like this, curled up on someone's lap and probably very intrusive, but no one's stopping me.

Eventually, Dad raises his hand up and starts to smooth back my hair. I wonder if all parents have this habit. It's a slightly neurotic, but comforting gesture that Mom used to do. Now Dad does it too. I sigh contently and close my eyes. Yes, I'm still tired. No amount of sleep is good enough for me today.

A hand brushing over the skin near my gauze-wrapped wound makes me jump in my spot. I snap my eyes open and look up at Dad, who looks back at me guiltily. But his eyes leave mine soon and flitter back down to my injury. He no doubt believes he was the cause of it. Dad is just like that. You know the type; the self-sacrificing type who believes that every failure is a direct result of his incompetence. I would say that it's annoying and stupid, but I get like that way sometimes too. Well, to tell the truth, I get that way a lot. And I know where I got it from now. Thank you, gene pool.

"Does it hurt?" he asks softly. His voice is hoarse, like he hasn't used it in a while. Has he really just been sitting here since last night, not even talking to Alfred? I've never seen him so depressed.

"Not really," I answer truthfully. It only feels sore now and then. Mostly it's just when I use the arm more than I should. Dad nods, but doesn't seem happy with my answer. I probably made him feel even guiltier. Great. Why do I bother opening my mouth again? It only makes things much worse than they already are.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," he blurts out. I look away. Here's the apology I could sense coming.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't save you from that. I'm sorry you had to go through that. I'm sorry for the events of the entire night. I wish I could have saved you from this somehow. No, I wish I could save you from _everything _happening in Gotham right now."

He deflates visibly and looks even more ashamed of himself.

"But I can't. It seems I never can. I'm trying my best, I swear, but what kind of job have I done? You've been with me for less than a year, and I somehow manage to screw up this badly already? I'm one hell of a father."

I take my head out of his shoulder and give him a deep scowl. I can't stand to hear him talk about himself that way. This wasn't his fault in the least, but he insists on dumping all the blame on himself in heaps. Damn the self-sacrificing Wayne gene. I poke him in the chest with my finger and shake my head.

"Don't you dare start that crap," I warn him dangerously. "This was not your fault, got it? It was the Joker's. No one else's. Just him. And it could have been much worse. I could be Harvey right about now. Or I could be…"

Dad's head snaps up. I stop short. I was about to say her name. Bad idea, bad idea! I cover up my gaffe with some more quick words, hoping Dad will pay no mind.

"I could be dead. But I'm not. I'll get over the burn. Sure, it'll scar, but who cares?"

I do. I care a whole freaking lot.

"So don't keep apologizing to me. You have nothing to apologize about. And for the record? I think you're a pretty awesome dad, so shut up."

Dad laughs weakly and reaches to smooth my hair down again. I place my head on his shoulder again, suddenly feeling like I've been awake for days. His Mom-like gesture just makes me feel even more tired. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine being seven years old again, and feeling my hair being stroked in the morning while Mom's melodious voice shakes me into awareness.

Damn. I nearly forgot how much I miss that.

As if reading my thoughts, Dad looks down at me and smiles.

"I'm just scared about what your mother would say if she were here right now," he says jokingly. I giggle. I've come a long way from the time where the subject of my mother being brought up made me stray away. Now, I like talking about her. She was an amazing person, and not talking about her memory would just make that memory die out.

"She'd probably scream at the Joker enough to make even him pee his pants," I say while laughing. Dad laughs with me, remembering Mom's attitude. She was the nicest, sweetest person you'd ever meet with the aura of a caring mother just coming off of her in waves, but messing with me was the most sure fire way to trigger that fiery, Irish temper of hers and get her to beat you with an umbrella. She was a mama bear, most definitely.

"I can hear her now," Dad says, feigning worry. _"You let our baby get hurt again and I will personally see to it that you will no longer be able to conceive another one in your miserable life."_

My body shakes with laughter as I bury my face in Dad's shoulder. That's such a Mom thing to say. She had a variety of insults in her repertoire, including some of the most bizarre and creative ones I've ever heard in my life. Sometimes she'd rattle them off in Irish, much to the confusion of everyone around her. Get my mother angry and you would be both terrified and amused.

Dad and I calm down a bit and settle back in to our previous positions; me curled up on his lap and him stroking my hair. Despite it being bulky, hard Kevlar, his suit is oddly comfortable. I could lay on it all day and still be as comfortable as I am now. Maybe that's the tiredness or the laziness talking, but I really could just fall asleep on him.

"Hey Dad?" I blurt out. I almost forgot something. He looks down at me and smiles a bit.

"Yes?"

I smile back at him like the sleep-deprived idiot I am and throw my arms around his neck.

"I love you," I mention. It feels like a long time since I've said that, and it's the least I can give him when he's in such bad shape mentally. He pats my back with his large hand as I hug him with what little energy my body has. My arm is throbbing again, but I don't say anything. Wouldn't want to ruin the nice moment we're having here.

"I love you too, Vieve," he responds sincerely. I get a cheeky grin on my face and give him a short nod.

"Good. Because if you love me, then that means you'd be willing to carry me back to my room since I'm too lazy to get up and walk."

Dad groans, but picks me up anyways. I squeal happily and grab onto his neck. I feel like a five year old when he picks me up, and I like it. We all wanna feel like kids sometimes, don't we?

* * *

Approximately three hours later, I've sat in my bed, not sleeping. Instead, I've mapped out some possible reasons why Nobody saved me last night. I know wondering probably won't do me any good and will instead cause me some emotional distress if nothing else. But I can't stop thinking of it. And I can't stop hoping that, against all logical reason, she actually does what she does because there's still a part of her that cares. That sounds crazy, even to me. But it's not impossible. One doesn't forget a friendship like ours so easily. I know I didn't. Not at all.

I've gone over all the possibilities. I thought about the fact that she could have just been playing me and I was never meant to die like Rachel. I was just put there as some sort of tool. Like something to trick me into trusting Nobody so she could _really _kill me later. That was the saddest, but most realistic possibility.

Next I thought about the possibility that she genuinely wanted to save me. Is it so hard to believe that maybe, just maybe, she cares? She did say that she does and that I shouldn't assume things about her. But it's pretty damn hard _not _to assume things about her when she's wearing that outfit and looking at me through her colored-contacts. She doesn't look like Blake. She barely even acts like Blake.

Some other endless possibilities swirled in my mind, but those two were the main ones I focused on. They seemed the most probable ones out of the bunch. It could go both ways, but I'm definitely leaning on number 2. It's the more pleasant one to think about. I'd like to hope she still cares, because I still care. I hate that I do, but that doesn't make me stop. Excuse me for having some human emotions.

My phone buzzes on my nightstand. My heart immediately clenches with dread when I think about my friends. Are they texting me and asking me why I wasn't in school today? What will I tell them? _'Oh, hey, I just suffered some burns to my arm and saw a man get horribly disfigured while a friend of mine died a yard away, so would you mind sending the homework I missed to me?'_ No freaking way! This is a conversation I don't want to have.

Luckily, I check and find that it's just a news update. Phew, I dodged a bullet there! I click on the alert that comes up, and it leads me to a live news feed. It's some sort of talk show, and the man being interviewed is familiar. I can't quite put my finger on it. The headline slides across the bottom like they usually do on news shows. I read the bright, bold white lettering.

_Batman's Secret Identity Revealed._

No fucking way.

Now I recognize that man. He works at Wayne Enterprise. I've seen him occasionally when I visit Dad's workplace. There was always something I didn't like about him. Looks like I've found it. Stupid snitch. Does he know how badly he's screwing everything up right now? Does he even know what he's doing? Something tells me this isn't about being scared of the Joker. Otherwise, he wouldn't be going on a talk show to reveal Batman's identity to everyone. He's seeking the attention. Idiot!

Someone calls in before the traitor can reveal the real identity of Batman. I silently thank this mystery person for having such good timing. Hopefully, something else will happen to suspend Dad being revealed to the world.

_"I had a vision," _the mysterious caller begins creepily. _"Of a world without Batman."_

Oh great. Now I know who this caller is. That's wonderful.

_"The mob ground out a little profit and the police tried to shut them down, one block at a time. And it was so... boring. I've had a change of heart. I don't want Mr. Reese spoiling everything, but why should I have all the fun?"_

Yes, Joker, because we all know how much you love to play with Batman. Something tells me that he doesn't actually want Batman dead like so many mob members want him dead. He likes this eternal game of cat and mouse, but he wants to make it more fun. So he twists the rules around every one in a while.

_"Let's give someone else a chance. If Coleman Reese isn't dead in sixty minutes then I blow up a hospital."_

I suddenly feel great relief, silently thanking Dad for getting me out of the hospital while there was still time. Then I feel terrible for all those people still stuck in the nearest hospital. I try calming myself down, repeating over and over in my mind that they'll evacuate it. Everyone will be fine. Sure, there will be some angry people who will have to put their loved ones up in another hospital. But otherwise, everything will be fine. It'll be just _fine._

I jump up off my bed when the overwhelming urge to see Dad hits me. I want to make sure he's okay. Weird, huh? I'm the child, he's the parent, but I feel like I need to take care of him.

I rush into the hallway, bumping into Dad as he goes past me. I try to talk to him, but he looks to be in a hurry. He grabs me by my arm (the good one) and starts to speak in a lowered tone.

"I need to leave," he says quickly. "Just trust me, okay?"

I nod curiously, and he lets go of my arm before rushing to the stairs to go down to the main floor of the house. Something tells me he's not going through the cave. He's just going out the front. An overwhelming desire comes into my head, but I remain patient. I wait until I hear the front door slam shut, and then I rush down to the study. Playing the piano the right way, I then jump into the elevator that takes me down to the cave, where my suit is now stored too. I approach it and take a long look at it. I came down here out of curiosity, to see if I could actually look at my suit without getting scared. I thought I'd never be able to put this on again. Fire is still scary to me, as it's only been less than a day since I got my burn.

But this suit isn't scary to me. I can't believe I thought I would have to give it up. How could I? I love it too much. It doesn't just help other people. It helps me too. Maybe I need it more than everyone else does.

I can't sit around and let Batman do all the work. Sometimes, you've gotta be your own hero.

* * *

**A/N: Crap, I gotta go now. Bye! Tell me what you think! :D**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: So I had NO homework tonight (shocking, I know) but I have midterms coming up. *cue groan* I have to study... But I don't WANT to. So I wrote and procrastinated. Because I'm a great student...**

**ONWARD WITH THE STORY!**

* * *

The nearest hospital in Gotham is history. It was blown sky high by the Joker, just like he promised he would do. But, luckily, it was evacuated beforehand, so there were no casualties. I got another news alert about it on my phone as opposed to actually seeing it on the news or being there like Dad was. I was a bit too busy with something else.

After getting dressed in some more presentable clothes, I grabbed some quick food, an item buried in the back of my closet, then bid Alfred goodbye (of course, I asked him to clear the glass in my room before I left) and headed out the door. Alfred had no idea what I was doing, but lucky for me, he didn't question it. He must know me well enough to know that you can't question logic that isn't there. Now I stand in the local cemetery, shaking against the cool breeze and letting the silence fill my ears as I stand above an empty grave. I lean down and brush my fingers over the smooth, cool gravestone. The words make little dips in the stone. I outline them with the pads of my fingertips. I read the stone's words in my head, even though I've memorized them by now.

_BLAKE SPENCER DEMONTE:_  
_LOVING DAUGHTER, NIECE, AND FRIEND_

I still can't stand the fact that they put 'niece' on there, like Crane deserves that title. He was the one who shot her! And he gets immortalized in her gravestone like he made such a positive contribution to her life? That's just bullshit. Absolute bullshit. I fought against it, but in the end, I didn't have the final say. I still hate it, though. Then again, I don't even like the fact that the word 'daughter' is on there. But that's because I know Blake wouldn't want it that way. If she's ever come here, then I'm sure she was about as happy about it as I am. I can practically hear her scoffing now.

I honestly hate Blake's parents. After she died, they barely seemed to mourn their own daughter in the least. They weren't devastated like I was. Even Dad showed more emotion than they did. Their cold indifference disgusted him as a parent and me as Blake's best friend. They didn't seem to find a problem with the fact that we couldn't even find a body to bury, while I was enraged at the thought of someone stealing it off the floor of Arkham. They swept the whole thing under the rug, pretending to grieve to keep up appearances like the rich assholes they are. I'm sure they loved her in their own way, or at least I like to think, but that love was less than what is healthy as a parent. They were terrible at showing her they cared. I tried to get closer to them after her 'death' as a means to cope, but I quickly realized it was not worth it, so I just stole some stuff from her room that they've no doubt cleared out by now.

Speaking of her stuff, that's the reason I came here. I may be confused right now when it comes to Blake and where she stands as far as her mental state and how she feels about me, but that doesn't make me want to do this any less. Nothing can take back all the good times we had together. I smirk as I take and object out of the back pocket of my dark jeans. I shove it into the weak grass that surrounds her grave, and it digs into the soil, burying itself into the ground. I step back and look at it, grinning from ear to ear. Blake would like this.

In the loose soil, there sits a framed picture of the two of us, facing the camera with goofy grins on our faces and our arms slung around each other's shoulders. She had it on her desk in her room, and there was no way in hell I was letting her parents chuck it in the trash like they no doubt planned to. I took some other things to remember her by, but none were more important than this one photo.

I look around the cemetery and wonder if Blake has ever visited this place. Has she ever gotten curious about her grave spot? She has to know we set one up for her… Right?

I stand in my spot a little while longer, hoping beyond hope that Blake doesn't think we all just forgot about her. That'd be like forgetting a part of myself. Maybe her parents gave her as much thought as a bug underneath their overly expensive shoes, but not a day went by that I didn't think of her. But how was she supposed to know that? I can't think of anything as bad and disheartening as thinking that everyone you've ever cared about forgot about you and moved on with their lives when you can't move on with yours.

No wonder she went all Anakin Skywalker on us and crossed over to the dark side.

A beeping car horn from the street over yonder startles me out of my thoughts. I jump around and look out at the small street near the cemetery. A car I recognize well sits waiting by the side of the road. It's one of Dad's many expensive cars that he buys to keep up appearances. I narrow my eyes in confusion. How did he know I would be here? Even Alfred didn't know I'd be here. I simply shrug and jog over to the car. I'm just glad he's here and okay. I worried about him more than I'd like to admit.

I open the passenger door and climb in, settling in the seat and buckling up without a word exchanged between the two of us. I look over to Dad, about to ask him how he found me, but I stop short in concern. Dad look like he's teetering on the edge of panic and a little bit of anger. I put my hand on his arm as a way to calm him down.

"What's wrong?" I ask quietly and cautiously.

"Don't leave the house again without telling Alfred where you'll be," he says quickly, without much warning. I'm shocked, but I understand. In retrospect, it was stupid of me to just rush out without at least telling Alfred I was going to be here. After last night, Dad has plenty of reason to be concerned about me. He's just a normal, concerned parent. But I have a strange feeling that his panic right now isn't because of last night. There's something more to this story that I don't know.

"I won't," I promise sincerely. "What's going on, Dad?"

He looks over at me while stepping on the breaks, keeping his attention on the road while simultaneously paying attention to me. I get nervous all the sudden. I get that weight in my stomach that I get when something's wrong, but I don't know what it is. I'm just going off of the anxious expression playing on Dad's features, something that's unsettling to me. Seeing your parent nervous makes _you _nervous.

"Gotham's gone down the toilet," he tells me in all seriousness. "The Joker has finally broken the last seal. He's announced his control over all of Gotham, and people are in a complete panic. Everyone's trying to leave, but he warned them that they won't be able to use the bridges."

So he's holding all of Gotham hostage? I feel like groaning out loud. Damn him. I can't believe the panic he's causing, considering most of these people have lived in Gotham their whole lives. You would think that they'd be calmer in the face of danger. But now everyone is fleeing. We don't have a handle on anything here, especially considering the citizens who used to support Batman now see him as the enemy. _That_ was quick.

"When I got home and you were gone, I thought you'd gotten into some sort of trouble again. Even though Alfred told me you left by yourself, I was terrified that someone could have grabbed you. With things the way they are now, I'm surprised that's not what happened."

I put my head down in shame, feeling my cheeks burn. Dad knows how to make me feel guilty in a way no one else can. I don't drink, I don't smoke, and I don't have sex and get pregnant, but I feel like the worst teenager on the planet for not telling someone where I was going to be. How does Dad manage to do that to me with just a look and a few words?

"What's the plan, then?" I ask. Knowing Dad, he's come up with some sort of solution for this. If not that, then at least a plan on what to do later. Instead of answering, Dad reaches in my pocket and grabs my phone without bothering to ask me first. I get confused at his violation of my privacy, something he usually leaves alone, but I don't bother to question it. I know he'll answer my question shortly.

"All the phones in Gotham are bugged," he says calmly. I gasp and snatch my phone out of his hand. The stunning lack of respect for the privacy of anyone in this city is shocking, and I can't believe Dad would stoop to this low. It must really be necessary for him to do something this disturbing.

"Really, Dad?" I groan. "You're bugging phones now? You know, if you wanted to see my texts, you just had to ask."

Dad laughs at my attempts at humor to lighten the mood. It barely worked. I may be joking, but I still don't feel comfortable with the fact that he knows what every Gotham citizen is doing, saying, and seeing as soon as they do. It may be because of my own hatred for having people poke too far into my personal life. I'm a very private person, and if someone bugged my phone, I may just have to kill them with a rusty fork. But Dad is different. Now I know that my phone is being listened to, so I know to keep it as far away from me as possible.

"If you're talking to any boys, now is the point when I find out," he warns in a joking, but half-serious manner. I nearly laugh out loud. Then it must be a good thing boys don't exactly like me, isn't it now?

* * *

I wrap up my injured arm in some new gauze, being as careful with the sensitive skin as humanly possible. It stings like a bitch as I change the bandaging, but I have to change it every once in a while to keep infection at bay. I'm forced to look at the burnt, pink skin when the bandage comes off while switching it out, and it still looks as gruesome and ugly as it did before. It's enough to make someone want to puke. I wonder how it'll looked scarred over. Will it be all that bad? Will it just be discolored? Will the skin feel weird to the touch?

Whatever it's like, I'm going to wear makeup over it when it's out on display. I won't even be having this conversation. That's the end of it, and I don't care if that's conceited.

I finally pin the bandage in place and look at it in the mirror. I smile a bit at my reflection, putting myself at ease. I can convince myself that I'm fine if I just smile. Nothing's wrong that can't be fixed if I just suck it up and act positive instead of focusing on a scar that isn't even here yet. The here and now is already hard to deal with without adding this scar into the mixture. Let me cross that bridge when I get to it.

With that in my mind, I pull my hair back in a tight ponytail and wander off out of my room. I've been in here for too long for my tastes. I want to move about the house instead of being kept in this confined space like an animal stuck in a cage. I've felt like that a lot lately. I need to get out of this house and do something other than visiting the cemetery. But I know Dad wouldn't allow that with the Joker at large. That white-faced moron is really putting a damper on my already barely-there social life.

I putter around the main floor of the manor, thinking of maybe going down to the cave. I mean, I don't know if Fox is down there since he's the one working the controls to the computer spying into the pockets of all of Gotham, but would it really hurt to say screw it all and go check on my suit? I'm not about to go on a patrol or anything. It's barely even dusk yet. I just wanna go see it. I want to touch the spandex and the leather jacket and the strong tights and smooth combat boots. I want to feel my mask underneath my fingers. I miss my suit.

But I stop myself. If I were to see my suit, I know what I would do. I would get overly excited and have trouble resisting the urge to throw it on and fly out the door to go on a nightly patrol. I might even try going after the Joker if my adrenaline runs too high. And that's not my only motive for doing that. I only seem to meet Blake – err, _Nobody_ – when I'm in my Blaze suit. And as much as I wish I could deny it, I desperately want to see her again. We keep meeting under the worst circumstances, but I want to see her again. It's so messed up, but what can I say? I thought she was dead for nearly a year. That pain doesn't disappear easily.

I linger in the study for a little too long, staring longingly at the piano. I so wish I could, but that's not the smart thing to do. That's not the Batman thing to do.

Dammit, how do I keep going back to that?

"Don't even think about it," a voice warns from the back of me. I roll my eyes. Speak of the devil…

"I wasn't," I reply in exasperation. "I just wanted to go down there for a bit, but never mind, okay?" I sit down in one of the leather chairs and cross my arms over my chest. Dad rolls his eyes back at me and comes over to mess with my hair. I slap at his hands as they mess up my ponytail and then glare at him for ruining my hard work. It sucks trying to get my long, thick hair into a uniform ponytail. What is it with dads and not respecting their daughter's hair?

"Calm down, kiddo," he says. "I was just making sure. I've gotta be heading out."

My shoulder deflate visibly and I put on my best pouty face. I'm not proud of it, but I'm willing to do it when I'm this desperate. And I _really _don't want Dad going out again. This has something to do with the Joker, and I don't like it. I'm getting gradually more protective over my dad, especially now that he's growing to be more unpopular around here and the Joker is gaining more control. I'm overly protective of those I love, and Dad fits the bill.

On top of that, I'm angry that he doesn't think to bring me with him and that I'd be grounded for life if I dared to sneak along. I know that he's not offering to bring me this time either. It's like he doesn't trust me enough. Does he really think I'm going to let myself be hurt this way again? No way.

"Dad…" I begin. He cuts me off with a raised hand, signifying the end of this conversation.

"No," he says firmly. I groan and give him the evil eye. Seriously? I didn't even get through a full sentence and he's already being so damn difficult. I'm not a child who needs to stay behind to keep from getting hurt. I can handle this. I'm more than ready.

"You didn't even let me finish!" I exclaim. Dad gives me that 'look'; it's the one I'm convinced all dads give their kids when they have made the final decision and can't be swayed. It's a look I've never questioned before, but I'm on the verge of it now.

"I know what you were going to ask, and the answer is _no_, Vieve."

At least he isn't calling me Genevieve. Then I'd really know he's pissed. He may not be pissed, but I sure as hell am. He trained me himself. Shouldn't he know I can handle myself? But he insists on treating me like a child. And he's doing whatever it is he's going off to do _alone_. He may be the adult here, but he's apparently not mature enough to admit he needs help. He could get hurt, and then what would I do? I turn away in order to keep my temper in check.

"Fine," I grumble. A small part of my brain whispers that I will not be standing for that. No fucking way. If I have to sneak out as Blaze, then so be it. But then the rational, non-angry side of my brain says that I should stay put like any smart person would. That part of my mind is very small, though. And it is fighting to win out at getting my stupid self to listen. I take a deep breath, telling myself to calm down. To trust Dad. To stay put like a good girl.

But I'm not a good girl, dammit.

"I'm sorry," Dad responds genuinely. "But this is for the best. You'll see." With that, he kisses me on the head and leaves me in the study by myself. I grip the arms of the chair tightly. I'm not happy about this, but I have to try my best to trust in Dad. I've gotten better at trusting people other than myself since I've been here in Gotham, but there's always that small part of me who still remains that foster girl getting moved to a new home with a family who tells me that they'll give me a good life but then end up giving me up in a matter of a year, perpetuating my belief that no one can really be trusted. Sometimes, that girl resurfaces, even though I wish she'd stay buried.

My cell phone rings next to me. I look at it in complete disgust. That thing is bugged. It's diseased to me. It's one big violation of privacy. Still, I pick it up and look at the caller ID. It's a number not in my contacts. That's weird. No one really calls me anyways. Much less someone I haven't programmed into my phone. Feeling a bit uncomfortable, I press the answer button and put the phone up to my ear.

"Hello?"

* * *

**A/N: You will know who is on the phone later. For now, I must go to bed because part of being a good student is getting a good night's sleep... So you can study in homeroom without falling asleep on your desk. Well, goodnight, and I hope to hear your feedback! See ya!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: So it's dreadfully hot outside, I can't sleep worth a darn, and I finally found the time to update! Enjoy this chapter I wrote up a really long time ago but never had the chance to upload.**

* * *

_Feeling a bit uncomfortable, I press the answer button and put the phone up to my ear._

_"Hello?"_

No one answers me. There is no voice on the other end. Instead, there is just even, not exactly heavy, but still loud breathing that steadily hits my eardrums. It's like something pulled straight from a really bad horror movie. I feel like the next thing said will be _'what's your favorite scary movie?' _before someone jumps out in a robe and rubber mask to stab me to death. I roll my eyes at the visual. I need to lay off the scary movies.

"Hello?" I repeat, growing impatient. I have a feeling that this is just a prank caller trying to freak me out. Well, whoever they are, they failed. They more succeeded in pissing me off, if anything. I hate getting calls from people I actually do know, much less this. It's a huge waste of my time. Out of everyone's number in the area of Gotham, why did it have to be _me_?

Some more breathing follows, until some words are finally spoken. The voice is grainy, deep, raspy, and sounds like it has taken a recent and heavy beating, but I can still make out the simple words that drift from the receiver and into my ear.

_"I know who you are."_

I tense up and clutch the phone tightly. Before, this would have had no effect on me except for some confusion over what the heck he means by that. But now that I'm Blaze, I'm paranoid of this sentence being uttered by anyone in my vicinity. I'm terrified that someone will figure out who I am and then lead back to Dad. Hell, the Joker and Nobody both already know who I am. At least, I think the Joker does. I can't even imagine the disaster that would cause. And it would all be on me. I couldn't live with that.

I just remain calm. Who knows? This doesn't have to be about Blaze. Maybe it's just some punk trying to play a prank on me. It could be that! Besides, this doesn't even sound like the Joker's voice _or _Blake's. It could be anybody. And c'mon, the line 'I know who you are' really sounds like it was plucked right out of some cheap-o horror movie complete with stupid teenagers and a serial killer with a really bad mask. Maybe it was and I'm just missing the reference. It could just be someone trying to scare me. Stay calm, Vieve.

"What're you talking about?" I respond, trying my best to sound confused. No matter what this person says, even if it turns out they actually _do _know who I am, I'm pleading my innocence until the very last moment. I'm not Blaze. I'm just a confused civilian who thinks she's getting a prank call.

_"You know what I'm talking about, _Blaze," the vaguely familiar voice accuses, adding emphasis on my alias. I cringe. Well, shit. He really does know. This isn't some random prank caller trying to scare me for kicks. This person actually knows the truth and could easily ruin me if he went to someone with this information. But I won't let up that easily. I sigh in pretend frustration and ready myself to put on my best 'annoyed teenage girl' voice. It's my last resort.

"Look, mister, I don't know what drugs you're on, but –,"

_"Cut the crap," _the man demands, interrupting me. Good. That teenage girl tone was grating on my nerves, even if I was the one doing it.

_"I know who you really are, and you're not getting off that easily," _he growls. _"Do you or do you not want to keep it a secret?"_

Something about this man's voice is scarily familiar, like I've heard it once or twice. I can't exactly place it, though. It's scraping against the back of his mind like his voice is scraping against my eardrums. I feel like it's right on the edge of my brain, about to come out, but at the same time distant. If only I could place it, then maybe I wouldn't be in this situation. But for now, I just want to keep him at bay.

"What do you want?" I demand. A short, bitter chuckle emanates from the other line. So he finds this amusing? If I didn't know any better, I'd say I was talking to the Joker.

_"What I want is simple. I want to see you at 11 pm. No costume. Or else everyone will know your secret, and your daddy's secret too."_

I almost growl into the phone. This is all some plot to get to Dad, isn't it? I'm a tool in this person's game for Batman. I should have known this would happen sooner or later. Everyone want the Batman.

"Where?" I ask, trying my best to sound indifferent. I can't really deny anymore, but I won't confirm for him. I want to sound like I couldn't care less. It's the only happy medium I can think of.

_"The place where you really _became _Blaze,"_ his dark voice whispers to me. _"And don't bring daddy along, okay? We wouldn't want him to ruin the fun." _Before I can say anything more, the line goes dead and all I hear is the long, flat sound showing that he hung up on me. I turn my phone off and think long and hard about his cryptic clue. He doesn't know anything about me, even if he knows I'm Blaze. He doesn't know about my training or where I got my suit. That'd be impossible. I don't know if I can pinpoint when I became 'Blaze'. It was more of a gradual process, really.

I think it over more. When I _became _Blaze… I shudder at memories of the fire, of the flames on my arm. Of the _blaze…_

Of course. Why did I not think of this before? I became my name when I was in that warehouse fire. I really lived up to my secret identity when I caught on fire myself. I was literally ablaze. It's terribly ironic that the girl named after fire is afraid of it. Whoever this man is must know that. Damn him, then.

I place my phone back on the table next to me cautiously. Did Fox hear that whole conversation? I hope not. With all the people who are probably on their phones right about now, I doubt I was the only one having a phone conversation. Besides, I doubt they're actually listening to the conversations. That'd be tedious and near impossible, right? It must have something to do with them being able to see the area that person is in. At least, I think so. It's not like anyone tells me anything, so I just have to guess.

I groan and run my hand through my hair, taking it out of the ponytail. My situation is just lovely, thank you very much. I have no idea what to do. There's the logical part of me that says I should just tell Dad about this when he gets home. He's the expert, after all. But there's a million ways this could go down if I did that. I could be putting him in danger. Who knows what this guy is trying to do? He could be luring me in to kill me for all I know. If he could do that to me, there's no telling what he'd be willing to do to Dad. If I tell Dad and he decides to go meet him and ends up getting killed, I'd never forgive myself. My protectiveness is coming out. No way in hell am I letting Dad get hurt. Better me than him.

I could always follow his demands. I could meet him at that warehouse where I was burned in the hopes that he'd carry his end of the bargain and tell no one my identity or Dad's. But there would be some many risks to that and no guarantees. I could die for all I know. I just don't know, and it pisses me off. Why can't there be one clear option? Instead, I'm forced to choose between these options that could all have deadly consequences. I laugh bitterly and bounce up out of the chair. You know, what's life without risks? Isn't that what being brave is all about? I might as well do what this guy demands if I want to protect my identity and Dad's.

I shake my head to myself. Inwardly, I know that I'm not making the smart decision. I'm ignoring my most basic gut instinct and my brain that screams at me to be logical. But that's fine by me. Because my protectiveness outweighs my intelligence. I'd rather make a bad choice that costs me my life than make a smarter one that could potentially cost Dad his. I'm stuck here with no real way out. And there's still something bugging me, nagging at me from the corner of my mind…

I knew that voice. I don't know how, but I knew it. There was something about it that nagged at me. It was like when you see an actor in a movie or TV show and swear you recognize them from somewhere. You just don't know where. I must have heard the man's voice a few times. Maybe it's someone I've met in passing or maintained a few conversations with. Whoever it was, though, I'm sure I don't know them all that well. Had it been someone I've spent a substantial amount of time around, I would have recognized the voice immediately. But I haven't, so I still don't know who it is. It's eating away at me.

Looking at the clock, I curse my luck. The sun was starting to set just about the time that I visited the cemetery. Now, it's nearly 9:00. Damn! My time is running out fast. I have two hours to come to a full decision and act on it. Two hours isn't nearly enough. Especially not now.

I pace around the room nervously with no inkling on what I should do. I groan and bury my hands in my hair. I should be able to think on my feet. It's a valuable skill to have, yet when I'm under this pressure, I have no idea what to do. I mentally berate myself for being so useless. You know, _Batman _would know what to do.

As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I scowl deeply. _Batman would know what to do. _I growl at myself. Batman, Batman, Batman! I am done comparing myself to Batman. I'm not Batman. I could never be Batman. I'm not like him. I'm my own person. I make my own mistakes and have my own victories. And I'm done trying to think about what Batman would do in a situation like this. It's time for _me _to take control and make a decision for myself. Screw being like Batman. I'm going to be like Blaze.

When my mind clear from this fog, an idea pops into my head. One that might be the closest I'll get to a happy medium. I grab a piece of paper and a pen from the desk near me and begin to scribble out a message. My rushed handwriting is loopy and probably looks illegible, but I know that it can be deciphered. When I'm done, I fold it up and walk out of the office, up to the living room where I imagine Alfred is. Sure enough, he sits on the couch, looking lost in thought. I almost don't want to interrupt him in one of the few quiet moments he probably gets in this circus, but I have to follow my plan.

I walk up beside him and place a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Alfred looks up at me, startled out of his reverie by my presence. I have a habit of sneaking up on people, I suppose.

"Is there anything you need, Miss Genevieve?" he asks. I shake my head and thrust the note out towards him. He looks at the note and then at me in confusion before reaching out to take it. Once it's in his hands, he tries to unfold it, but I place my hand over his to stop him.

"Don't open it yet," I tell him. "There's a message in there. At 11 pm, I need you to deliver it to Dad in any way that you can. But for now, just please don't read it. I know it sounds weird and more than a little suspicious, but I need you to trust me on this, okay?"

Alfred looks back down at the folded over piece of paper and nods his head. He still looks reluctant, but he'll go along with my mysterious and probably very confusing plan.

"I trust you," he admits. I smile and take my hand off his shoulder, prepared to walk away. I'm content with the fact that even if Alfred isn't too happy with following these cryptic orders I've given him, he trusts me enough not to question them. I always know I can rely on Alfred. He's the one reliable, constant thing in my life and in Dad's.

"Miss Genevieve," he calls after me. I turn slightly, hoping that this isn't him changing his mind. I _need _him to go along with this.

"Yes?" I respond hesitantly. He pauses before responding. There's a slight silence that passes between the two of us. I wonder what he's thinking and whether or not he disapproves of this. Alfred has been through it all. He's the one who had to help Dad through the loss of his parents. He had to stay here in the manor, alone and surrounded by reminders of the past, when Dad was pronounced dead. He supported Dad's decision to become Batman and still patches him up every night. When I came along, he helped me adjust and now has to put up with the same things he does with Batman, only with Blaze. After all the shit Alfred has been put through, has he ever once complained? Nope.

Of course he disapproves. He just won't tell me that.

"Don't do anything your father would do," he warns. I laugh a little at how good that advice is. He's being serious, too. Looks like I'm not the only one who says screw being Batman.

"I won't," I promise him. "I'm not my dad."

Alfred gives me a sad, but knowing smile. He shakes his head like he knows something I don't.

"If only that were completely true…" he murmurs. I look down at the ground. Alfred's right. I know he is.

I know that I'm a lot like Dad. I'm reminded of that fact every day, when someone we meet out in public feels the need to comment on how I'm a carbon copy of my father or when Dad and I will get into an argument over something stupid and we end up using the same exact glare on each other. I'm way too much like him. I'm not my calm, soft-hearted, rational mother. I'm stubborn, protective, impulsive, brash, sarcastic, and bold. I'm my father's daughter. I'm bound to make some of the same mistakes as him. But, I'm not just my father's daughter. I'm my own person. I'm Vieve Wayne, and it's about time I made my own decisions.

"I'll be okay," I assure Alfred. I don't know for sure whether or not that's true, but if my plan goes down the way I think it will, then I should have a good chance of coming out of this unharmed. That's what life is all about, though; taking a chance. As Mom used to tell me, nothing in life is certain except for death and taxes. I might as well take this chance.

I walk up to my room and immediately shoot for my bed, leaning down to see under it. My most prized possessions are all hidden underneath my bed. In some of the group homes I stayed in, I kept them underneath the bed or in the mattress to keep people from stealing them like what happened to many of the other girls there. Old habits die hard, I suppose.

I spot it lying next to a trunk of mine containing some of my photos and Mom's jewelry. With a grin, I grab the cool handle of my knife, sliding it out from underneath the bed carefully. Yes, I keep a knife. If you lived in Gotham, wouldn't you? Exactly.

I grab my black combat boots out from the closet and slide them on. The knife goes inside the boot, the blade side up and pressing against my leg. I honestly don't care if it cuts me up a little when I walk. It can't be worse than my burn!

Grabbing my leather jacket and brushing my hair out using my hand, I stand up in nervousness. I'm jittery. My confidence is wearing away. To put it bluntly, I'm terrified. But I can't let it show. Fear is a luxury I cannot afford right now. I'll let myself freak out later, once I'm done. But right now, I've got a job to do.

I rush downstairs and out the door. To my surprise and satisfaction, Alfred does not stop me. Good, because nothing can stop me. Not now.  
The sun has long fallen, shrouding Gotham in darkness, but I can find my way around here blindfolded. I know exactly where to go. And I won't stop until I get there.

I'm meeting this stranger. And he won't know what hit him.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry I'm so out of it right now, but it's just so freaking hot outside and I can't sleep and... bleh. But I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope you'll enjoy the next chapter. I may actually post it tonight (it's already written)... It'll be the last. I know, sad, but there will be a third story! However, it WON'T be based on The Dark Knight Rises. It will be Vieve in Young Justice. And I won't be on FanFiciton! It's on my Quotev account, Rae Lori Jane. ;)**

**Tell me what you think and I hope you check out the next story!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I should just warn ya'll now... this is a long chapter.**

**I am not kidding. This is a LONG freaking chapter. Like, over 6,000 words. THAT long. But there's a reason for that. Because...**

**This is the last chapter.**

**Yup, you heard right, kiddos! This is the last chapter. But fret not, because Vieve is in another story already. You'll find out exactly what from the note I put at the end. But don't cheat. Read the chapter first.**

**With that said, enjoy this unusually long last chapter!**

* * *

Walking in the leaky, broken down building that changed my life, I can't help but wonder why the meeting had to be _here_. Here, of all places. The one place in Gotham I want to avoid like the plague. I was probably told to come here for that exact reason, but it still feels like a punch to the gut. I can still see the charred remains of the building right next to this one. The building Rachel died in. I get chills all across my body just thinking of that. I wonder what would have happened if I had been the one to die instead of her. Would she be the one getting this call instead of me? She did know Dad is Batman. I think better of it and shake my head. I doubt this would be happening to her. I have a little more to lose.

The warehouse is dimly lit and has an ominous feeling to it. But it's no worse than having to brave the streets of Gotham at nighttime. It's only worse now that the Joker has taken control of Gotham. Everything looked abandoned. Whoever was still here was huddled inside bars and shops, while the homeless suddenly seemed much more prevalent now that they made up most of the remaining Gotham population. I've seen Gotham through the depths of the Falcone takeover, Crane's madness, and Ra's al Ghul's attack. But never have I seen it this terrible.

The Joker really is a new breed of criminal. What sets him apart from all other criminals is quite simple, really; he doesn't care. He just _does not care. _Not about anybody, not about anything, not even about himself. His only goal in life is to spread as much chaos and anarchy as he possibly can before he dies, and he's willing to do anything to accomplish that. Nearly every criminal has some sort of moral code they follow or at the very least, some sort of rulebook they play by. The Joker doesn't have that. He plays it by how he feels that day. He's not above doing anything. Everything he does is a means to an end for him. There is no other human being on Earth that thinks like him or plays this game like he does. That's what makes him so dangerous.

I stop short of reaching the middle of the warehouse, the gears in my head turning about wildly. It only just occurred to me that this could be the Joker's work. Sure, it may have floated past my brain briefly, but I never acknowledged the seriousness of it, mostly because I'm 100% positive that it was not the Joker's voice I heard. What if he's trapping me into this to kill me? The thought that this could be a random person trying to kill me scared me _much _less than the thought of the Joker killing me for some strange reason. Probably because the Joker would be more likely to disembowel me before decorating my body and hanging it from the tallest building in Gotham.

May I reiterate that the Joker _really scares me? _Because he does. I think I'm starting to miss Crane and his antics. Just a bit.

This could also be another opportunity for the Joker to try and get me to join his ranks like Blake did. I laugh shortly just thinking about the ridiculous concept. Me? Joker's crony? Yeah, that's totally going to happen. When hell freezes over. _Twice._

The sound of a creaking door echoes throughout the building. I keep my hand away from the knife in my boot for now, but I keep in mind that I might need to use it. I wouldn't want to reveal what I have to offer just yet. If I'm confronted with hostility, I'll whip my knife out eventually.

Much to my confusion, a woman and two children enter the room. The woman keeps her kids tucked closely at her side and looks around the warehouse nervously. I shake my head rapidly to myself. She shouldn't be here. She can't be here. She has no reason to be here. She should most definitely _not_ be in here. If she's in here, she's in danger.

"Hello?" she calls out, obviously not seeing me. She looks nervous and jumpy. Really, isn't everyone now that the Joker is out and about? I walk closer to her and try to see as disarming as possible. I wouldn't want to scare her more than she's already scared. But when you're a 5'3 young girl, you don't usually have that problem.

"You need to get out of here now," I warn her in a firm voice. She looks at me in confusion and a hint of distrust. Obviously, someone has told her different. And if she's here, then she must be of some importance. I don't understand. Am I missing something? Should I know her? To me, she just seems like a woman who walked in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"But… But my husband's coworker called me…" she stumbles over her words. I wave her story off, grabbing her by the arm and trying to lead her to the exit quickly, but as gently as I possibly can. I don't want to freak her out, but I need her out of the building. I can't let her become a casualty.

"No time. You can't be here. It's very dangerous. Take your kids and go to the safest place you can think of, okay?"

The confused woman offers little resistance as I pull her along. Good. I wouldn't want to make a scene of dragging a screaming woman out of an abandoned warehouse. I just need to get her out of harm's way and get back to the plan. No harm, no foul.

A click coming from behind me says different.

"You're not going anywhere," a voice growls. I stiffen. It's the same voice from the phone. The same gravely, deep, grainy voice I heard on the phone. I keep my body covering the scared mother and her children while I turn around to face him.

The very first word that registers in my mind is 'fire'. I see my wound times fifty. The entire left side of his body is covered in severe burns, but the face is what stands out the most. The skin is just… gone. All that remains is the meat and ligaments that lay underneath the melted off skin. The eyeball looks like it's popping out of the melted socket. I can see all the teeth clearly, including the once hidden back teeth. It's horrible, horrendous, and puke-worthy. It's like something out of a horror movie.

_It's Harvey Dent._

The former D.A. is unrecognizable this way. Not just his torn up face and burnt suit. But the fact that he's holding a gun to my head. This is Harvey Dent, the up-right and clean White Knight of Gotham. I can't believe he came to this. This isn't the Harvey that I knew. Even if I've only seen him a grand total of two times, I could tell that he was a genuinely nice person. He actually cared about the fate of this city. He cared about Batman. He cared about justice. Now here he is, holding me at gun point with the threat of revealing my identity and the identity of the man he gave everything to protect. How?

"Harvey…" I begin, at a loss for words. He brings the gun closer until I can see exactly where it would connect with my temple. I swallow hard. He's not bluffing in the least. One wrong move and I could end up with a bullet buried in my head. But oddly enough, I remain calm. I just need to talk him down from the ledge. Maybe I can get some sense through to him somehow. Harvey Dent is still buried in there, somewhere down deep.

Then again, that's what I thought about Blake as Nobody.

"Not one more word," he commands forcefully. His gun strays off me a bit as he looks at the woman behind me. Instinctively, I move to cover her even more. I'm small, so I can't do much, but I'm not letting Harvey shoot this woman or her children. They're innocent bystanders in all this. My only goal is to keep them safe. My plan has been shot to hell for the time being. Now all I can do is wait.

"You are going to call your husband," Harvey tells the terrified woman. "Let him know you need him to come help you."

The woman follows his instructions and grabs her cellphone out of her pocket with a shaky hand. I glare up at Harvey with malice. I'm starting to think that the Joker would have been better. At least he wouldn't be that much of a shocker. Seeing Harvey like this is such a big disappointment. He's better off dead than like this. He's lost his sanity. He's just a maniac with a gun.

I sit down on the cold hard ground while the call is made. My eyes squeeze shut and I let out a breath. I know how this is going to go down; Commissioner Gordon – whom I just now found out is this woman's husband – is going to come rushing over here with the rest of the police department on his tail, and he's going to jump in here head first trying to save his family. Harvey is going to threaten to shoot his family so he feels the same pain he did when Rachel was killed. Shots will be fired, and someone is going to lose. It's such a typical story of vengeance. I just never thought a man like Harvey could stoop this low. In a twisted quest to avenge Rachel, he's going to become the exact type of man she hated and spend her entire career trying to put behind bars. Oh, the irony.

Sure enough, I hear a yell of 'Dent' coming from the lower level of the building. It's Commissioner Gordon. I wish he didn't come here. I wish he had just stayed away. But, I knew he would show up. It's his family, after all.

I watch from behind a pillar as Gordon rushes up the stairs at breakneck speed. His footsteps crunch from walking on the debris that litter the floor. His footsteps come closer and closer until they're right next to my face. When he finally catches up with us, Harvey hits him over the head with his gun, sending him tumbling down. I cringe. That looked like it hurt.

Gordon sees his family cowering close to a pillar next to me, worry and fear filling up his normally steady face. If he noticed me here, he might be confused. But I have a feeling that Harvey is about to fill him in on my role in all this.

"Recognize the girl sitting next to your family, Gordon?" he asks. Gordon rubs his sore head and looks over at me sitting against a pillar. How out of place I must look, a Wayne entangled in all of this. If only he knew the half of it. I'm not out of place at all.

"That's Genevieve Wayne; Bruce Wayne's daughter," he answers. "Why did you bring her here?"

Harvey laughs bitterly and comes over to stand by me, kicking some of the rocks on the ground casually, like he's on an evening stroll. His calmness in this situation is almost inhuman. He really doesn't expect to get out of this alive. There is no nervousness for him. He knows he's going to die no matter what. So he's going down swinging.

"No, who is she really?" Harvey reiterates. "You're an officer. You should be able to tell the similarities. The red hair, for starters?" He comes over to me and strokes down my long hair. I squirm uncomfortably. It reminds me too much of what Dad does. When Dad does it, I feel safe and comforted. When Harvey does it, I feel like puking up what little food I have left in my stomach.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Gordon pleads. He really has no idea who I really am, but Harvey is relentless. He kneels down besides Gordon's family, facing him as he does so.

"She failed just like you did," he hisses at Gordon. "You both could have saved Rachel, but neither of you did anything to stop it. You both let her down."

He turns to look at Gordon's cowering wife, who gathers their children close. I stare Harvey down as he gets closer to them. He's not really planning on doing this… No, that's crazy, even for this shell of a man I see in front of me…

"Tell me, Gordon, have you ever had to talk to the person you love most in their last moments, tell them it'll be okay, when you know it won't be?"

Gordon shakes his head weakly. He's sweating and near tears, trying to find a way to get Harvey to spare his family. I wish I knew a way to help, but I'm lost. Harvey is out for blood, and I know that I'll probably be next. The knife in my boot suddenly feels much more prominent against my skin…

No. Not _yet._

Harvey shoots me a look while bending down near Gordon's wife. She shakes in fear and keeps her children huddled close to her. Harvey puts the gun up next to her head, and her eyes widen. I inch a millimeter closer to them, keeping my hand on my boot. I swear, one move from him and this thing comes out of my boot and gets planted into his freaking leg. I try to remember the place where it will hurt the most. Why do I not pay attention in science during anatomy?

His hand lands on the head of the boy, Gordon's son. My eyes widen just like the woman's did. Not him! The boy can't be more than seven years old. I was supposed to be the target in all this. I could handle it. But a kid? He has nothing to do with anything. Harvey's vengeance is misplaced. The heartbroken sounds of his mother's begging set me over the edge. I finally find my voice.

"The boy has done nothing!" I shout to Harvey. He doesn't listen to me as he holds a gun to the boy's head, stroking his hair like he's making a sick attempt to comfort the person he's about to kill. My blood boils when I see the little boy starting to cry. I _hate _when people make kids cry. There's always my knife…

"If you want to take anyone, take me!" I plead. "Punish me for not being able to save her that night! You want things to be even, right? Well, killing an innocent person in the name of another makes nothing even. It only makes things even less balanced. Please, don't do this when you don't need to."

"She's right, Harvey," a voice chimes in from behind me. I turn around and find Batman standing behind me, cautiously staying away from Harvey to keep him from setting off. I smile at him. So, he got my letter. I make a mental note to thank Alfred.

"You don't want to hurt the boy, Harvey," Batman insists. Harvey takes his eyes off of the boy and looks directly at me. A chill goes through my body. He looks at me so calmly. I'd much rather him look pissed off than this alternative.

"You're right, I don't want to hurt him," he admits. He lets the boy go and pushes him to the ground. I try crawling over to him to see if he's alright, but hands grab me around the middle and start to drag me away from him. I dig my hand into the floor, resisting the pull with all my might, but I'm dragged upright and a gun is held to my head. I squirm, remembering the knife in my boot. I don't want to use it on him, but I will. I am _not _above that. Especially when he's holding me. I do _not _like being held. Not. At. All.

"But I do want to hurt _her_," he growls at Batman. "Rachel's blood is on your hands, Batman. You and your precious daughter." He strokes my hair down to make a point. I look at Gordon to gauge his reaction to this. He looks at Batman in shock, eyes wide, realizing that Batman is Bruce Wayne. But I couldn't care less about that right now. I look up at Harvey in confusion.

"How did you…?"

"A friend told me," he interrupts. I shake my head angrily. The Joker. He couldn't get me to join him, so he's trying to off me by giving up my identity to the one person who would want to kill me. I'm just a loose end to tie up. If I'm that, then what is Blake?

"Now you'll know what it's like to have to watch as someone you love is killed, while you can do nothing to stop it," he declares. Batman gets in a ready stance with one foot in front of the other, like he's trying to devise some way to fight Harvey off. But the gun is to my head, and there's no way to jump at him without him firing a bullet into my brain.

Never in a million years did I think Harvey Dent could end up this way. I always thought he was better than this. I thought he could fight against the darkness, but instead he let it take a hold of him. He's the poster child for why the good can't win with the Joker around.

The Joker's words ring in my ears: _Even the mightiest can fall._

Some sort of force pulls Harvey back, ripping me from his body. I fall flat down on the ground, the debris hitting my face. At first, I think it must be Batman who has found some way to get to without him noticing Harvey. But then I look to my side and see that Batman stands in the same spot as before, his expression neutral. I look up at where Harvey stands. Arms are locked around his neck, choking him back. I look around his back and see the person who saved my life.

Blake.

"Help me out here!" she screams. Harvey may be covered in burns, but that's not stopping him from fighting back fiercely. Blake will only be able to hold him off for so long. All the blood in my head seems to pump to my ears as I jump on Harvey from the front, pushing him to the side. He falls down hard and scrambles to get up. Surprisingly, he still has the gun in his hand. He points it wildly at both of us, like he doesn't know who to shoot first. I get ready to jump on him again, but I don't get the chance. A dark shape passes through my vision as Batman glides past us and body-slams Harvey, sending them both flying backwards. Towards the edge.

"DAD!" I scream, rushing over to where they both fell. Blake follows closely behind. I barely even acknowledge her presence. I haven't had time to think about the fact that she's actually here. I'll make time for that once Dad's safe. I spot them both hanging on pieces of wood over the edge of crumbling building. I reach out for Dad's gloved hand, attempting to pull him up. Blake tries to help me, pulling on his other hand. Why does he have to be so damn heavy?

I feel another hand clamp down on my ankle and pull downwards, almost sending me tumbling off the edge too. My hand grabs the edge of the wall for support as I pull against the force. Without even thinking, I grab my pocket knife from my boot and jam it hard into the hand that grabbed me. I hear a sharp growl of pain, then the weight leaves my ankle. I breathe out in relief. I came so close to being pulled off the edge of a building and falling to my death. Thank god I'm the one teenage girl in the world with a collection of knives underneath my bed.

I peer down and look at the ground. Harvey Dent's body lays at the bottom, unmoving. With a sharp gasp, I realize that he was what grabbed me. With the adrenaline pumping, I guess I didn't realize it. I just went with my gut instinct to protect myself from whatever it was trying to pull me down, not realizing it would cause a death. I try to justify it in my brain, but that doesn't stop the torrent of guilt that washes over me. Does this mean I've _killed _someone?

Dad's hand slipping from mine distracts me from my thoughts. I try grabbing back onto it, but it's gone. I look over to Blake. She's free handed, too. I look down at the ground to find Dad lying next to Harvey, sprawled out like he is, equally as unmoving. Dead looking. I shake my head to myself. No, Dad isn't dead. He has armor. He can survive falls. He's fine. He's just fine. I keep telling myself that as I sprint for the staircase to leave the building. Dad is fine. He is _not _dead. He can't be dead. Because if he was dead, I don't know what I would do with myself.

As soon as I make it outside, I throw myself over Dad's Kevlar clad body. I put my hands on what little of his face is revealed through the mask. He's still warm. Blood is still pumping. When his eyes open, I sigh in relief. Dad is still alive. Of course, I already knew it. But the panicked daughter in me needed to make sure, just as a way to ease my fears. I'm the child, but I'm as protective over him as a mother is over her kids.

"I'm fine," he grumbles, disoriented. I laugh shakily and help him up.

"But you'll have one hell of a headache," I remark. I vaguely hear footfalls, and I see Gordon and Blake both come running towards us. The first thing both their eyes goes to is Harvey. Blake eventually looks away, staring at nothing. Like me, she can't look at Harvey. Poor, dead Harvey. He could have been so much more than this. But he let the Joker make an example of him. He let him win.

I let out a short breath and stare down at the dead body at my feat. I've never seen a dead body. Living in Gotham, I probably should have by now, but I guess I never got around to it. Unable to take looking at the unmoving body any longer, I look up in front of me. Blake still stands next to me. But she's not looking off into the distance anymore. She's looking straight at me. She's been looking at me this entire time, hasn't she? I look straight back at her, into her eyes that – to my complete surprise – look completely clear. There's nothing clouding them up. There's no colored contacts concealing her natural eyes. It's all just natural Blake. Even her hair is brushed out more, but still frizzy like always. We hold our staring contest with each other for a little while longer, both unsure on what to do. She just saved my life _again_. And this time, she's not running off into the night. She's still here. I feel like I should do something. Anything. I just want her to know how much I appreciate her. I want to somehow put into words how much I've missed her and how much I still care about her. More than she'll ever know.

I don't have to do anything, because Blake does it for me. Giving me no reaction time, Blake throws her arms around me and gathers me up in a giant bear hug. I stand frozen in shock for a few moments, collecting my thoughts. Blake's hugging me. She's _hugging_ me. My best friend is back, and she's hugging me. I respond finally, wrapping my arms around her in return. My eyes start to tear up despite my protests. I've waited so long for the Blake I knew to make a reappearance. I missed her more than I could ever put into words. I agonized over the fact that she was so close, yet so far out of reach. Now it seems I've finally reached her. Blake's back. I have my best friend back.

A wet sensation spreads across my shoulder. That can't be my own tears. With a jolt, I realize Blake is actually crying. I always thought Blake to be made of steel. I've never envisioned her crying. The closest she's ever gotten is tearing up during a Pokémon movie one time. But never this.

I break out of the hug and hold her out at arm's length. Sure enough, her face is stained with tear tracks. I'm sure mine looks the same way. A stupid smile spreads across my face. We're both huge, hormonal messes. I wouldn't want this reunion any other way.

"The great Blake Demonte is crying?" I mock playfully. My voice even makes me sound like I've been crying. It just has that distinctive sound to it. Blake's hand flies up to her face. She wipes away the tears that fall there and gives a short laugh.

"I blame you for making me soft," she accuses. I laugh and elbow her in the side.

"I'm not the one who makes you cry during Disney movies," I tease. Blake does her best to narrow her eyes into an intimidating gaze, but I can see the ghost of a smirk that plays on her lips.

"We do not speak of it," she reminds me. I nod with a smile on my face.

"What happens in Fight Club stays in Fight Club."

Blake hugs me again immediately after I say that. We both renew our crying. I just can't help it. Weeks of frustration and sadness and sheer anger over her betrayal are all pouring out into a big heaping mess of tears now that she's finally back here with me. She doesn't hate me. She's not trying to kill me. I can finally have my best friend back.

The noise of someone clearing their throat behind us makes us break up our second hug. I'm reluctant to let go, like she'll leave again if I disconnect from her for one second. But I remind myself that there'll be time for a hug later now. She's not going anywhere. Not anymore.

"I really do hate to break up this reunion," Gordon says, looking vaguely happy.

"But we have a body and three different people to blame it on."

Well, he certainly found a way to put a downer on things.

We all look down to the body of Harvey Dent, the White Knight that the Joker used to make a statement. I feel pity for him. He was a genuinely good person who was driven off the deep end. He wanted things to be fair, so he went about it the only way his deranged mind knew how. He evened out the playing field.

Batman opens his mouth to speak, and I mentally will him to close it. I did not come here just for him to take the fall for a murder. If it was my knife in his hand that sent him tumbling over the edge, then I should be blamed.

"Blame Nobody," Blake blurts out. Batman stops saying whatever it is he was going to say. I keep my mouth closed instead of jumping in with my own blame. She's onto something…

"Well, we have to do _something_…" Gordon insists, confused. Blake shakes her head, suddenly grinning with her brilliant idea. If you think of it, it really is brilliant. With Nobody taking the fall for this, there will be no questions. No one has to get hurt.

"No, I mean my alter ego when I was working for the Joker," he explains. "He called me Nobody. I was the one who left the Ace cards you genius police officers couldn't seem to wrap your heads around."

I roll my eyes. Yup, Blake is definitely back.

"Blame Nobody, and no one has to suffer. Not Batman, not Blaze… and not Blake Demonte."

Another smile comes across my face when I realize that she plans to come back for good. She's going to integrate herself back into society. After all, her body was never found. And we have Gordon to cover for us. As far as everyone needs to know, somebody named Nobody who is soon to fade off the map killed Harvey Dent as part of a ploy by the Joker, and Blake Demonte was just a girl who was kidnapped after being shot, but came back.

"It goes against every rule in the book," Gordon admits. I wait impatiently for a 'but' to come along.

"But, I suppose I already broke every rule I had by relying on a masked vigilante to keep our city safe."

I mentally happy-dance. No, that's not enough to describe it. I throw a mental parade with confetti and a marching band drumming along to the beat of _Welcome to the Black Parade_.

"It's time we let the dead bury the dead," Gordon finished tiredly. I raise my eyebrows. Whether it's a quote from _To Kill a Mockingbird_ or the Bible, I can't tell. Either certainly seems appropriate for the situation.

Blake throws an arm around me like she did the day we met, while we laughed like idiots in the parking lot of the school. It's like a symbolism. Our friendship is starting over again fresh. We're letting the dead bury the dead and getting on with our lives. We've both changed immensely over the course of these past weeks. Our friendship has, too. But it's for the better.

"So, batty, would you mind letting me crash at your place?" Blake asks. Batman narrows his eyes at her and says nothing. I laugh and sling my arm around Blake's shoulder. I have a feeling Dad will have some trouble adjusting to Blake.

This outta be fun!

* * *

_Two Months Later…_

"Are you two going to the homecoming dance tonight?" Dad asks Blake and me as we clear up our dishes from dinner. I stop short of placing a dish in the sink. Blake does the same thing, freezing in her spot. Homecoming? Did he seriously just ask that? Blake and I take one look at each other, seeing the identical look in each other's eyes, and burst into hysterical laughter? Us? Going to a dance? In _dresses?!_

"Dad, do you even know us?" I exclaim between laughs. Blake shakes her head as she tries to regain control over herself.

"Those things require dresses, B-man!" she laughs out. "We're both more comfortable in jeans and boots, thank you very much!"

Dad rolls his eyes and shakes his head, mumbling something about how he 'shouldn't have asked.' To be fair, he should have expected that response from us. Blake and I aren't exactly the homecoming types. We're the type of girls who would stand over by the punch bowl the whole time and daring each other to walk through the giant, horrific, sweaty circle of kids grinding against each other.

Seriously, have you _seen_ a high school dance? It's hell on earth.

"But we are going out tonight," I mention to Dad as we place our bowls in the sink.

"Oh really?" Dad asks. "Is this going to be what I think it is?" he asks. I roll my eyes and turn around with my arms crossed over my chest. Dad knows us well. He shouldn't have to ask. But sometimes, he doesn't let us go.

"Please, Dad? Can we?" I beg, putting on my best puppy dog face. I know I can break through that iron wall of resistance that is Batman. I know all his soft spots. I'd be his worst enemy if I was a criminal.

"Yeah, please, B-man?" Blake asks mockingly. I grin.

Blake's parents basically disowned her, letting her take their home in Gotham under the condition that she never mention their relation to her to anyone. They had a reputation to uphold. Technically, it belongs to their butler James now, but Blake is the only one in the home besides him. So when Blake wants to do something, it's my dad she asks for permission. Well, that is when she's asking permission at all.

Dad sighs and makes a shooing gesture with his hands.

"Fine, fine, just go already!" he exclaims. I cheer a little in excitement and walk over to Dad, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"I love you!" I declare, pepped up on energy. Dad rolls his eyes at my antics, but I can see he's holding in a grin. See, I can always break through that tough Batman exterior of his.

"Thanks for the permission, B-man, but I probably would have gone anyways," Blake admits bluntly. Dad scowls at her like he usually does. Those two… I swear, one day I'll have to call the cops on them to break up one of their epic fights.

"You're lucky you're my daughter's best friend," he mutters. Blake shrugs happily, clearly pleased at his reaction.

"I know!"

Dad rolls his eyes again and gathers up his own dishes from the table.

"But be back by midnight," he commands. I look at him curiously. He usually doesn't give us a curfew. No, scratch that. He never gives us a curfew.

"Why?" I ask. Dad looks up at me with a grin on his face. It can be rare to get one of those to appear.

"_Mulan_ is on tonight," he tells us. Blake and I look at each other, grinning. We never miss _Mulan_ when it comes on TV. We'll be sure to make it back before it comes on.

I grab Blake by the arm and drag her down to the cave. We're both down here as often as Dad now. It's like a common room to us. I know Dad probably hates sharing the space, but he deals with it without complaint. Just another reason I have the coolest dad on the planet. Other than him being, you know, the freaking Batman and all.

Blake and I both push separate buttons on separate glass display cases, opening a sliding cylinder door and revealing suits in them. We grab the suits shown to us and start to undress out of our normal clothing. This has become second nature to us. We can do this in a minute flat by now. Soon enough, we're both changed and ready to go.

"Done adjusting your corset already, Phoenix?" I tease. She shoots me a dirty look and finally zips the lacy black piece of clothing into place. Blake still loves corsets, but this time she's paired it with black leather pants and high heels with a combat boot like feel to them, along with a red belt and a black and red mask. She's still a femme fatale. Old habits die hard.

"Shut the hell up, Blaze," she growls in annoyance. I laugh at her struggle and skip over to the motorcycle that Blake knows how to ride. My inability to drive anything with wheels is no longer a hindrance!

Blake jumps on up front and puts her helmet on. I follow, feeling undeniably cool on this dark red motorcycle. I think everyone has to feel at least a little bit cool on a motorcycle.

"Ready to go, Blaze?" Phoenix asks me. I can hear the grin in her voice. She loves this motorcycle even more than I do.

"Let's roll," I respond. The engine starts up with a roar, and then we're off. The wind blows into my face as we hit the highway, my arms securely fastened around her waist. I feel like cheering out loud, but I just settle on smiling widely like an idiot. I know Blake feels the same way. No words pass between us. They never do when we're on here. But we're both thinking the exact same thing.

Screw homecoming. There's no other way we want to spend a Friday night.

* * *

**A/N: There you have it, my friends! The end! *throws party***

**YAAAAHHHHH!**

***pulls out speech***

**I would like to thank my best friend, Kate, for being the Blake to my Vieve.**

**I would like to thank Jasmine Scarthing for being an awesome reviewer and for entertaining me with her stories about Annie's adventures as Catgirl (BTW guys, if you like my story, you'll like hers too, so check her out).**

**I would like to thank highlander348 for loyally reviewing on pretty much every chapter on this story.**

***puts away speech and bows to adoring crowd***

**As I promised, there IS a Vieve and Blake story! And it is a Young Justice one! The story is called Teenage Infernos. If you haven't watched Young Justice... Do it. Just do it. It's on Netflix now. GIVE IN TO THE PEER PRESSURE.**

**Teenage Infernos is on Quotev already! My account name is Rae Lori Jane, and in case I forgot to tell you, Teenage Infernos is co-written with my best friend, Kate (AKA the basis for Blake).**

**Anyways, I would love to hear what you all thought. Not just about this chapter, but about the story in general. Feel free to tell me! :D**


End file.
